


It's My Turn

by SLiverofJade



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, Bilingual Character(s), Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Cisgender, Cissexism, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Español | Spanish, Experienced reader, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Frottage, Healers, Heteronormativity, Heterosexual Character, Heterosexual Sex, Heterosexuality, Hispanic Character, Humiliation, Isolation, Kidnapping, Latino Character, Medical Professionals, Military Background, Military Backstory, Military Training, NaNoWriMo, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Happy, Nurses, Nurses & Nursing, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV Multiple, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Penis In Vagina Sex, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Slavery, Shower Sex, Situational Humiliation, Sombra (Overwatch) is a Little Shit, Stockholm Syndrome, Talon Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Team Talon (Overwatch), Threats of Violence, Torture, Verbal Humiliation, Weapons, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-02-02 04:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12719406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLiverofJade/pseuds/SLiverofJade
Summary: You are a nurse kidnapped by Reaper in the midst of a mission to treat his wounds.  Unfortunately for you, Talon can use more medics.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkDrabblings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDrabblings/gifts), [strikecommandher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikecommandher/gifts), [OverwatchingYouSleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverwatchingYouSleep/gifts).



> I don't actually play Overwatch because I don't play FPS', but I'm a huge fan of the works of DarkDrabblings, OverwatchingYouSleep, StrikeCommandHer and have been dragged into the fandom.
> 
> I apologize in advance for my rusty Spanish.

                “¿Dónde estas, coño?” Reaper muttered to himself as he doubled back on his path, which was littered with bodies.  This mission couldn’t have any witnesses.  He just wanted to finish off the pendejo he’d clipped on his way in and get back to the safe house on the outskirts of the city.  Only problem was that the cabrón managed to crawl out the front doors of the office that served as the public front for an Overwatch outpost.  Naturally he’d shut down all communications in or out thanks to a little device Sombra lent him, so the bastardito must have gone looking for help.  The sooner he took care of that loose end, the better off he’d be.

            Another throb from the gash in his side reminded him that if he waited any longer, he’d be another body on the ground.  He pressed his off hand, such as it was since he was more or less ambidextrous, harder against the wound, albeit somewhat awkwardly.  He kept his dominant hand on one Hellfire because if he was down to only one he’d be damned if he was giving up any possible advantage. 

            Luckily, blood trails on concrete were ridiculously easy to follow and the agent hadn’t made it very far otherwise he’d really be pissed.  The scowl behind his mask deepened at the small figure kneeling over his target.  He hated it when someone tried to undo all his hard work.  She was obviously a civilian, but most of those were smart enough to run away from gunfire, not towards it.  EMS would undoubtedly arrive soon, and she wasn’t likely to abandon the injured man.  Maybe if he took them both out he’d absorb enough of their life force to make it out of there. 

            Raising the single shotgun, he sighted on her.  As if she felt him watching her, she turned directly towards his hiding place and met his eyes.  After the requisite widening of the eyes in fear (honestly, he didn’t think he’d ever tire of the rush he felt when the prey recognized him as predator), her face set with determination and she hunched protectively over the man.  He huffed in amusement and scorn at the little puffed up kitten.  A kitten who was effectively blocking a clean kill.  Estúpida puta.

            “I will go through you.”  He didn’t know why he bothered warning her when prudence demanded he eliminate her.  Maybe it was all the blood loss.

The wind whipped through your olive green pseudo-military jacket and reminded you that you needed to get a proper winter coat with your next paycheck.  At least your feet couldn’t feel the cold since they were numb after having been on them for nearly twelve hours straight.  Thankfully you knew every crack, crease, and curb along this stretch to the bus stop and could stumble along without tripping.  However, the body lying on the pavement was a new addition.

            Your immediate reaction was: 1. What the hell?  2. Is there an active shooter?  3. Your instincts and training kicked in and from then onward it was all business.  You dialled 911 on speaker and set it on the ground while fished hand sanitizer and gloves out of the many pockets in your scrubs.  The damn things were like tribbles, they seemed to multiply even when you didn’t remember squirreling more away, but at least it meant you always had some on hand for emergencies.

            It was hard to tell because of her efficiency, but the poor dispatcher almost sounded relieved to be dealing with another professional when you rattled off the state of his injuries, pulse, and breathing.  Apparently satisfied with your expertise and aplomb, she put you on hold to let you focus on plugging up the multiple GSW’s with a promise to check back when the ambulance was due to arrive.  The guy’s chances were probably shot if they didn’t get him to a hospital within thirty minutes.

            While the front of your brain focused on applying pressure, your hindbrain, woken by the adrenaline pumping through your veins, perked up to keep watch on your environment.  If it weren’t for that survival mechanism, you might not have noticed the threat.  Your head snapped up and swivelled towards a darkened alley slightly behind you and to your left, across the street.

            A white mask, almost omnic or skeletal, stared back at you, combined with his giant frame cloaked in a trenchcoat and what looked like body armour he practically screamed badass.  The gun in his hand was just over the top.  Scary dude with gun.  Gunshot victim.  It didn’t take much to put two and two together.  You threw yourself over your patient while continuing to staunch the worst of his wounds.

            “I will go through you.”  Although not as deep as James Earl Jones’ voice, he could certainly give Darth Vader a run for his money.  Besides, it sounded like a voice modulator rather than a respiratory device.  Stupid higher brain functions were trying to take over while still being in clinical mode and focusing on weird details.

            “I don’t doubt it.  Either shoot me or let me do my job,” you challenged with far more cool than you actually felt.  You hated having looky-lous around while you worked, always making you self-conscious.  Assassin with a penchant for the dramatic with a weapon pointed at you only ratcheted that up to eleven and evidently tanked all sense of self-preservation.

            “You’re a nurse.”  You couldn’t resist the shiver that ran through you.  Geez that voice was creepy cool.  Unable to handle the fear, you forced yourself to turn back to the patient with the same logic as a kid thinking the monster in the closet couldn’t get them if they hid under the covers.

            “Nope, this is my Halloween costume,” you quipped with no small amount of sarcasm.  “Look, you got about three minutes before the cops show up.”  _Ugh, why are you pissing him off and then giving him a warning?  Did you want him to kill you faster?_

            You flinched at the sound of gunfire, even though you knew it wouldn’t do an ounce of good at virtually point-blank range.  Before you had a chance to realize you were still alive, he hauled you to your feet with a bruising grip around your upper arm.  However, he did grant you a moment to find your balance.

            “Y-you killed him!” you cried, staring at the new hole in the head of the man you’d tried to save.  You were no stranger to death, but you had never been this close to the violence that caused it.

            “Shut up,” he snapped and hauled the girl after him.  To his surprise, the mouthy little thing fell silent.  Or maybe she was just disoriented by shadow-stepping with him.  Either way, he didn’t care as long as she didn’t draw attention.  Even though he only used his ability when they came across people, it still took a lot out of him to bring another person along with him.

Offing the pendejo stopped the bleeding temporarily, but he was still going to need patching up.  The closest extraction team was one state over, if he wanted to admit to getting plugged on what should have been a milk run.  _Shit, if McCree heard about this_ …  He quickly strangled that half-formed thought.  That was back then.  Now, showing weakness like that was slicing a wrist and jumping in a sharktank.

Suddenly you found yourself standing in the middle of a dim room barely large enough to contain a desk, chair, and two humans.  He dropped her arm and strode towards a short hallway, which he practically filled.  Turning to take in the strange surroundings you found a kitchen from which spilled the only light.  There were no windows as far as you can tell.  You backed stiffly out of the darkness and towards the light like a child reliant on a nightlight for their sense of security.  Right then you didn’t care how silly it was, especially when it wasn’t the actual dark you were afraid of, you only knew that it made you feel nominally better.

            “Stay,” he ordered like you were a freaking dog and shoved you into a kitchen so small that if he stood in it, it’d look like a child’s playset if he stood in it.  Then the Overwatch reject disappeared into the shadowed hallway and you took the opportunity to dash for the drawers most likely to have knives.  It took a minute for your brain to process what you were seeing.  Instead of cutlery or even dishtowels you were staring at what looked like part of an emergency kit: maglight, batteries, candles, matches, radio…  Was that a grenade?

            The sound of something heavy dropping behind you made you spin around to face the threat.  A first aid kit sat on the table and tall, dark, and creepy was shrugging out of his coat with his back to you.  How did someone that big move that quietly, and in giant boots, no less?  Gauntlets, body armour, and bandoliers followed.  He reached to pull his skin-tight black undershirt over his head.

            “Make yourself useful and glove up,” he ordered over his shoulder.  And make no mistake, it was an order.  You jumped and scurried to wash your hands at the kitchen sink.  The water was cold, but it felt warm to your nearly frozen hands.  Drying your hands on a red and white checked towel, you studied him from the corner of your eye as he toed off the huge boots and suddenly understood why he needed your assistance: drying blood coated most of his… was an eight-pack even possible?

            The wound was awkward to work on with him sitting, forcing you to sit on the floor, but you were not about to ask him to move.  Despite what movies would have you believe, removing bullets anywhere other than a proper facility with surgeons was the quickest way to kill the victim.  As much as you wanted to get as far away from him as possible, you couldn’t bring yourself to murder someone, especially one who was injured.  There was no foul smell, so the lower intestine probably wasn’t perforated.  You worked meticulously since you didn’t have complete confidence in the lidocaine he’d pulled from the fridge.  It certainly didn’t help that you could feel his eyes, still hidden behind that skeletal shell, boring into you.  To fill the inexorable silence, you warned him about possible internal damage, infection, and wound care.  Scars littered the warm russet of his skin, most of them fairly old, so he probably wasn’t overly concerned with scarring.

            Finally, she removed her gloves and sat back with a sigh, stretching her back with a distinct crack.  She was good, professional, although she had to have practically been pissing herself.  She didn’t even try to take advantage of the situation.

“Are you going to let me go?”  Aww, la pobrecita’s bottom lip wobbled adorably when she was pretending to be brave.  Seeing her sitting at his feet and the soft lushness of her full lips made his cock twitched with interest.  It was only a half-hearted attempt due to the pain and blood loss, but he wasn’t completely dead.

“Don’t bother trying to escape, biometric locks,” he warned, watching the faint hope in her wide eyes die as he stood.  She remained where she was.  He made a mental note of that.  “Get some shut eye or whatever.  Just stay out of my way.”  This last he tossed over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen.

Naturally you weren’t going to take anything he said at face value and headed straight for the front door.  A mocking double beep and a snort from the kitchen were your rewards when you tried the handle.  Still, you had to try.  With escape off the table for now, first order of business was shower.  At the end of the day you were inevitably covered in sweat and various bodily fluids, and today was no exception.

            Searching the rest of the place didn’t take long.  The spartan décor reminded you of your first apartment.  It was about the same size, too.  The shower stall was so small you wondered how he fit in there with those broad shoulders.  _Nope, nuh-uh, you stop that right now,_ you scolded yourself before your mind’s eye could conjure the sense memory of his warm skin under your hands.  But you could hardly put your filthy scrubs back on after cleaning up.

            The bedroom contained a double bed.  You opened the closet, which was curiously deeper than it appeared at first glance, to find shelves stacked with non-descript clothing.  Lower shelves held what looked like bulletproof vests.  Underneath that boots and sneakers formed neat rows on the floor.  You selected a pair of soft black leggings, a dark blue ribbed tank top, and an oversized charcoal coloured hoodie.  The underwear looked new, or clean at the very least.  Finally, you grabbed them after shuddering at the thought of putting on the pair you’d been wearing for the past fourteen hours.

The bathroom door locked, but you suspected that he’d tear through it like tissue paper.  However, it put your brain slightly more at ease.  Sticking to your after-work routine as much as possible helped trick yourself into momentarily forgetting the dark, intimidating man in the other room.  Or at the very last bumped him from the forefront of your mind.  You visualized the stress knotting your muscles slipping away down the drain with the water that sluiced over you.  The steam melting the fear that made your blood run cold.  Too bad you couldn’t hide in the shower forever.

            Reyes arched a brow when he heard the water running.  He wouldn’t have thought she would willingly put herself in such a vulnerable position.  Then again, she had been covered in blood, which caused revulsion in most sane people.  It’d been some time since he’d had to worry about disease.  Imagining water running in rivulets down her belly and splashing off her breasts made his cock perk up again.  He couldn’t wait to see if his imagination matched what she was hiding under those scrubs and bulky jacket.

“Doomfist here.”  The deep, richly accented voice spilled through his comms unit.

            “I’m bringing someone in,” he pronounced curtly while rummaging through the MRE’s stashed in a kitchen cupboard.  Most of the others housed weapons and various supplies.  _Who the fuck stocked jambalaya?_

            “I thought you said you got it.”  He could practically hear the frown in Ogundimu’s voice.  Then again, he didn’t think the Nigerian had any other expression.  Not that he was one to talk.  He hadn’t had much reason to smile since Zürich.

            “Not like that.  A nurse.”  _Omelette?_   Soon as he was getting back, he was going to forcefeed the quartermaster the worst MRE’s for a month.  It wasn’t like they had budgetary concerns when it came to basic supplies.  Maybe a week of pissing buffalo chicken out of his ass would fix this shit.

            “A civilian?  You must be joking.”

            “We need more medics.  She tried to save one, knows her stuff.  Hardly flinched when I wasted him, but I can break her.”  _Spaghetti and pot roast.  Finally, something edible._   “Hell, it’s not like we can advertise on craigslist.”

            “You are correct,” he hummed thoughtfully.  “If you’re going to break her, you’ll want to do it fast if she’s to be of any use for the upcoming operation.”

            “Roger that.”  There were likely to be heavy casualties on the next mission and they could use every resource they could get their hands on which meant he’d have to work fast.

            The leggings and top clung to you in a way that left nothing to the imagination, and you were horribly self-conscious of your belly.  At least it was all black, not that you wanted to look good for your abductor, you simply weren’t accustomed to wearing something so form-fitting anywhere other than the comfort of your own apartment.  Zipping the hoodie up to your chin and tugging down the hem as far as possible, you crept into the kitchen.

            One would think you wouldn’t have an appetite after the night’s…. unusual events.  But if your stomach was easily upset, you’d never eat.  And the last thing you’d had was a cup of coffee and a candy bar several hours ago.  The least he could do was let you forage in the kitchen.  If not, well, in your hangry state you were prepared to gnaw on him until he either fed you or let you go.  Either result was satisfactory.

            Without the trench coat and all that body armour, he appeared almost naked in just a black compression top that clung to every ripple of muscle.  The fabric shone slightly under the lights as if to draw attention to the sheer power contained therein.  He hadn’t removed the bandolier and one of his guns was strapped to his hip, the other lay on the table.  What did Miss Manners say about proper weapon placement at dinner?

            As if feeling you watching him, he turned around.  He’d removed that ridiculous mask to reveal a ruggedly handsome face under several slashing scars.  All of them were pale and silvery, indicating they were fairly old.  A well-groomed goatee seemed to emphasize rather than camouflage the marks.  Shit.  Tall, dark, handsome and facial hair.  It was as if someone had delved into your psyche and conjured an image of your perfect man.  Too bad he was a kidnapper and murderer.  He glanced up to meet your gaze and you sucked in a sharp breath.  Holy hell, his eyes were red.  Not bloodshot or contacts.  The irises _glowed crimson_.

            Heart racing, you snapped your gaze away.  Would he assume you were staring at his scars?  Those didn’t bother you one whit, it was the fact that he was freaking bioluminescent that was wigging you out!  Safe house, teleportation, and genetic tampering all pointed to Major Crap that you were not at all prepared to deal with.  Hot coals shifted in your belly.  If he revealed his face to you, then he must not have any intention of letting you go.

            The trick was to keep her unsettled, never let her feel like she had her feet under her.  With a leer, he easily knocked her to the floor with a sweep of his leg.  She went down hard with a startled gasp.  Maybe if he was a better person he wouldn’t enjoy the wide eyes staring up at him in terror so much.  When he’d shed his old life, he’d also shed any pretense at morality.  These days he let Doomfist concern himself with the Greater Good™.  Disbelief kept her on the ground.  Bending down a slightly due to the extreme height difference, he tangled a hand in her damp locks and savoured the tears welling up.  No one had probably ever laid a hand on her.  A thrill went through him at the thought that he got to be the first to shatter her fantasy of a good and just world.

            “Listen very carefully because I don’t like repeating myself.”  His fist in her hair tightened to emphasize his point, as if he didn’t already have her full, horrified attention.  “You will do what I say, when I say, and if you so much as think about refusing, I’ll start carving off pieces.  A toe for each infraction, then fingers, and when we run out of those…  Well, if you haven’t learned your lesson by then, I’ll have to get creative.”  A deranged grin crooked his mouth at the potentials that half-formed in his mind.  The shudder that wracked her body was positively delicious.

            Fear sliced through your throat like an icy razor, waking you out of the fear-induced paralysis.  You grabbed at his wrist, digging your nails into the tendons and nerves clustered there, in a vain attempt to force him to release his hold.  He forced your head back until the tears that had been threatening spilled over.

            “I like a little fight, but only a little,” he growled.  Something cold and metallic pressed against your cheek.  Your mind went blank with panic, frantically. screaming _Knife!  Knife!  Knife!_ over and over and over.  “Now, let’s put your mouth to good use and if you try that again then I have to make good on my promise.” 

            The hand not holding the blade dropped to his belt.  He couldn’t possibly mean…  Yep, that was a penis.  A large, semi-erect, circumcised penis.  Suddenly the dagger mere inches from your eye didn’t seem nearly as urgent.  And it was getting bigger.  The erection, not the knife.  Probably because he was dragging your head towards his groin.  Immediately, you tried to lean away despite knowing that the posterior triangle of the neck and cervical vertebrae were no challenge for all the large muscles in the arm.

            You were no stranger to fellatio, but you always marveled at the texture.  The first time your tongue touched the head and fully fathomed his size you doubted you were up to the task since you’d never mastered the art of deepthroating.  Once he hit your tonsils and kept going, you realized he wasn’t going to stop until you took every last inch of him.  Your gag reflex triggered a powerful abdominal spasm.  Thankfully there was nothing in your stomach to bring up.

            Instinctively, you braced your hands on his powerful thighs.  Holy crap, they were like marble encased in living flesh and rip-proof tactical pants!  He filled your throat completely and you swore that You pushed slightly against him when you ran out of oxygen.  The point of the blade parted the epidermal strata down to the dermis over your cheekbone in warning.  Sucking hard enough to hollow your cheeks while squeezing the shaft between your tongue and palate, you hoped he’d understand that you were trying to breathe and not fight him.

            Risking a glance up, you found his eyes were shut in ecstasy.  Out of habit, you swirled your tongue over the frenulum and through the slit rather than out of any care for performing well.  Although the pressure of the knife did lessen as his pleasure increased, allowing you to pick up speed and rhythm.  The faster you went the more chances you had to breathe and the faster this ordeal would be over.

            The knife clattered to the worn linoleum next to you and he gripped your hair in both hands to facefuck you instead of passively receiving your forced ministrations.  It was all you could do to maintain your balance, breathe, and keep your teeth away from his member.  With one final, deep thrust he spent straight into your stomach.  Logically you knew that was impossible, but that’s what it felt like.  At least the residual taste as he withdrew wasn’t terrible.

            Coughing, you fell forward onto your trembling hands and waited for whatever he wanted to inflict on you next.  You recoiled from something he dropped on the floor next to you.  Evidently his next method of torture was a silver packet of food.  A plastic spork stuck out of the partial tear across the top.  Digging in, you found it not much different from what they served in the cafeteria at work, which was to say it was edible. 

            How could he expect you to eat after… that?!  Your stomach, however, had no such compunctions and made itself known with an angry rumble.  Your hands continued to shake from the aftermath of the adrenaline and low blood sugar.  Denying yourself food wouldn’t do any good.

            The girl snatched up the food and scuttled into the corner by the sink to huddle over the pot roast.  She gulped it down with periodic glances in his direction.  The pinprick he gave her already clotted to leave a slight smear of blood, almost like a tear.  If she continued to react like this, she’d be his in no time.  Maybe he’d even keep her around after the mission instead of disposing of her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: graphic depictions of rape
> 
> This was a particularly hard chapter to write, not because I didn't know what I wanted to happen, but because the first time I was raped was in a shower. To this day, I've only showered with my husband a couple of times. To me, it is not sexy, it is not fun. We even have separate bathrooms, but that's also because they're pretty small. Sorry for the TMI, but please understand there might be a bit of time before the next chapter.

            Despite the exhaustion, you slept fitfully.  In fact, it was amazing you could sleep at all.  Disturbing visions of the Grim Reaper chasing you through dark, empty streets haunted your dreams.  No matter how fast you ran, he was only a step behind, a shadow half-seen from the corner of your eye.  You finally gave up around five am to lay in the dark, on your side to face the door, and with his eerie voice echoing from the nightmares.  “Death comes for all.”

            Although you normally slept in the nude, or a shirt and underwear, you weren’t about to do so here.  Not that you thought a few layers of cotton and synthetic fabric would do anything against him, but it made you feel better.  Besides, it was freaking cold.  You hugged yourself in the dark, shivering from more than cold.  The asshole had gone to the bedroom not long after eating, presumably to sleep, but you were too afraid to assume he’d stay asleep. 

            You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets for warmth, your knuckles smacked against a smooth surface.  Then you mentally smacked yourself for not thinking of your phone sooner.  Knowing that attempting earlier before he hit REM was too risky was small consolation to your pride.  As usual, there was less than 20% battery since you’d forgotten to charge it the night before and it also served to alert you to various situations at work. 

            None of that mattered anyway since you wasted three percent trying to find a signal before giving up.  You shut it down to conserve what was left and slipped it into an inner pocket in hopes that it’d be less likely to be found there.  And you were again stuck in the freezing darkness with a jaw that ached something fierce as a constant reminder of what had happened.  Even your temples and the back of your neck were sore.  Sacrificing dignity for the sake of warmth, you tiptoed into the bathroom to grab a couple of towels to use as blankets.

            The soft footfalls of someone trying to be stealthy woke him faster than the sounds of a person moving about normally would.  Both shotguns were in hand before he remembered the medic he’d commandeered.  At least she’d stopped crying, or quieted down, a few hours before, allowing him to get some rack time.

            He wondered what she would do if she knew that the hoodie she wore was his.  Strangely, he did like seeing her smaller form swamped in his clothing.  It had been many years since he’d had someone around long enough to see them in his clothes, and even longer since he’d been involved with someone not tied to Talon or Blackwatch.  Surprisingly, he liked her innocence.  Not that she was pure, not by any stretch of the imagination, but in comparison to him…  He was going to enjoy corrupting her.

            She tried the door to the weapons locker at the end of the short hallway before finding the bathroom.  Even if she could figure out how to get in, he doubted she’d figure out how to load any of them, let alone find the right ammo.  And if she did manage all that, he would hear her coming out and could wraith over to snatch the gun away.    He allowed himself a sly grin at the imagined expression on her face if he did that, and then putting her dropped jaw to good use.  After the toilet flushed and she padded back to the pathetic excuse of a living room, he drifted off again.

            Lying awake on the couch that managed to somehow be simultaneously lumpy and hard, your mind contemplated the mess into which you’d been dragged.  There were the rumours of Overwatch being resurrected and some other shadowy, paramilitary force in opposition to them.  You didn’t pay much attention to politics over which you had no control.  Besides, you were too old to believe in heroes.  It was better for your blood pressure to focus on things you could affect, like the victims of said machinations.  Now you wondered whether you should kick yourself or be grateful for your wilful ignorance keeping your hyperactive imagination in check.  Either way, the darkness held no answers.

            Like always, he woke suddenly and completely and headed straight for coffee.  Scrubbing sleep from his eyes, he almost snickered at the sight of the nurse swaddled up in what had to be every towel from the bathroom and the hood of the sweatshirt drawn tight around her face.  It was a little chilly, he supposed, but that didn’t bother him much after Zürich. 

            Once he had a cup of go-juice in hand, he leaned against the counter and watched the girl, allowing her tension to ratchet higher with each passing minute while he savoured both the bitter brew and her fear.  Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, which was pretty much all he could see of her, she’d had a helluva night.  And today was going to be worse for her because they had some time to play before evac.

            In low slung boxer briefs and drinking coffee from a plain mug, both black, of course, your captor looked almost… normal.  Almost because the terra-cotta of his skin was peppered with more scars than you’d ever seen on any one person.  Last night you were too focused on what would soon be another tawny slice for the impact to truly sink in.  Automatically, you began cataloging the types of wounds that caused such indelible marks: bullet, burn, blade… crap, that one had to have been from a knife nearly two feet long!  At what point did a knife qualify as a sword? 

            A sharp sound made you jump and clutch your terrycloth layers tighter.  Did he seriously just snap his fingers at you?  What was he?  Was he pointing to the floor at his feet?  You gaped at him.  He couldn’t be serious.  Oh God, he was, judging by the tent in his underwear.  How could he possibly be in the mood with all the pain that he no doubt was in?  Your stomach plummeted.  Shit, he was setting his coffee down on the counter and cocking a brow.  How on Earth did he manage to make a single facial feature so threatening?

            Fuck, now he was straightening from his relaxed stance and taking a step towards you.  Despite the stiffness in your back, you leapt up, shedding the makeshift blankets, and scurried towards him.  You stumbled to a stop and awkwardly lowered yourself to your knees.  The floor was just as hard as you remembered it.  He hooked a thumb behind the waistband and lowered them just enough to expose himself.

            Strangely, you hoped he wouldn’t be angry over your clammy hands, which were cold even though sweat popped out on your brow.  Your stomach clenched into a tight ball.  Shadows beat at the edge of your vision until the world consisted only of his cock.  Were this any other situation, your mouth would have watered at his impressive manhood.  But the curdled taste in your mouth was certainly not saliva.

            You tried to lick his length just enough to provide lubrication for your hands.  He didn’t like that.  A massive hand gripped the back of your head and forced you down to the root.  Gagging, your entire abdomen spasmed in an attempt to expel the intrusion, but you shut the panic away.  At least he was clean, if a bit sweaty, but not soured.

            Every muscle that gave you grief during your restless night complained about being abused again so soon.  You did your best to ignore that, too, until you felt like an omnic: cold, unfeeling, empty.  You had no idea how long it took, but he pulled away from you when the shaft gave a tell-tale twitch just to spend himself on your face.

            You stared blankly, mind strangely devoid of thought, distantly registering the stickiness oozing down your cheeks.  Rough fingers scraped the substance into your mouth.  The bitterness promptly brought bile to compete for dominance on your tongue.  A calloused hand forced your jaw shut until your choices were to swallow or vomit with no way to expel the emesis.  With a supreme force of will, you ingested the foul substance.  Then he repeated the horrid process until you’d licked his fingers clean and your skin felt tight from the dried film coating your face.

            Maybe she thought the ordeal was nearly at an end.  Seeing the hate and pain welling up and spilling down her face to mingle with his seed was certainly hitting several of his buttons, but he wasn’t about to make this easier on her.  Breaking a woman this way was a balancing act.  The trick was to not destroy all sense of agency.  After all, how could she fulfill the role he needed her to if she couldn’t make decisions on her own once he put her back together.  But he also couldn’t allow her any free will when it came to him or Talon.  He had to shatter any rebellion, and sex made such a great carrot and stick.

            Hauling her to her feet, he pushed her ahead of him towards the bathroom, pausing to grab a couple of the towels she’d pilfered.  While he started the shower, she cowered in the corner by the door, studying the chipped cobalt polish on her toes and doing her best to hide inside his hoodie.

            “Strip.”  The blood drained from your face at the curt command.

            “P-please,” you begged, throat closing against a sob as he gripped your forearm.    “D-don’t.”  He spun you and slammed you face first into the wall.  Your head bounced off the dingy yellow wall and stars danced around your peripheral sight.  Not enough for a concussion, but there’d certainly be a goose egg later.  By the time you’d recovered your bearings, he’d stripped off “your” leggings and underwear in one go.  Now he grabbed the hem of the hoodie and tank top to peel them up and off.  While you were disoriented, he’d pinned your wrists over your head with one hand, which made his task easier. 

            In a shockingly short amount of time you were down to only socks and bra, which you’d slept in rather than go without.  He pressed his hips against you, forcing you closer to the cool wall, and released your hands to unclasp the brassiere.  You dropped your arms to your sides to try and reduce how vulnerable you felt.  Just as suddenly as you’d been disrobed, he’d stepped away and a pair of black boxer briefs joined the pile of clothing on the torn linoleum.

            “Get in.”  Turning partially, you leaned against the wall to quickly pull off your socks.  No sense in getting them all soggy.  It was a silly detail to worry about, but the mind was funny like that sometimes.  The water felt good, even if his stare following you didn’t.  A moment later, he joined you.  The click of the door shutting sounded far louder than it should have in the small enclosure.  You weren’t exactly a svelte woman, but he made you feel tiny in comparison, practically looming in the close quarters.

            He studied her shivering form, arms crossed in front of her chest, while lathering up.  Couldn’t have her thinking she could hide anything from him.  Easily slapping her limbs away, he knocked her against the wall and grabbed her breasts none too gently.  Made slipperier by the soap, he took a minute to enjoy the way they filled his hands and then some.  He marveled at how soft and warm she was, the way the large nipples stiffened into peaks that he could really have some fun with.

            People of all genders practically threw themselves at him, but when he did indulge, it was almost always someone involved with the various organizations he’d worked with over the years.  People who turned their bodies into hardened weapons, who understood there could be no strings attached, who used him as much as he was using them.  He’d never played with someone who was soft in any sense of the word.  He found he liked it.

            Hoisting her up by her ass, she wrapped pillowy thighs around his hips.  ¡La hostia, el culo es tan amortiguado como las tetas!  Her body met every expectation and then some, each curve highlighted by the glinting sheen of water.  Sure, she had some stretch marks, but he’d be a hypocritical hijo de puta if he said it was a turnoff.  Joder, his dick was already standing at attention.

            You’d never been one for shower sex.  It was awkward because you were so short, and you’d never before been with someone who could pick you up.  And the water couldn’t compensate for the lubrication it washed away.  While being picked up like a doll was hot as hell, you were in no way prepared for what came next.  A scream tore through your throat as he ripped into your core.  The agony forced all the air from your lungs.

            She threw her head back, tears mingling with the spray, face twisted in pain.  And he’d gotten little more than the tip in.  Although she was tight due to lack of arousal, it wasn’t as enjoyable since she wasn’t wet.  Well, at least her pussy wasn’t.

            “Que bonita,” he whispered and began to thrust.  Her expression screwed up even more until he thought she was going to pass out.  Withdrawing slowly, she gasped in oxygen with a snuffle.  The snot wasn’t as sexy, but she hadn’t yet earned any pleasure, certainly not after she’d frozen instead of following an order.  He only tolerated her bawling for so long before clapping a hand over mouth and began pumping in earnest.

            At some point your vagina produced some slick in self-defence against the battering, which made your suffering only slightly more tolerable.  You still struggled to breathe around his palm, the mucous your sinuses were copiously producing, and the water.  Each drag against your innermost tissues burned and stung, but it was nothing compared to when he finally came.  His semen felt like acid on the micro tears and you screamed until your already ill-treated throat gave out.  You barely felt it when he dropped you to the floor.  Rolling onto your side, you curled around the agony in your core and sobbed as silently as you could manage, afraid of angering him with the noise.


	3. Chapter 3

            From your work, you knew that victims often felt dirty and now you knew that on a visceral level.  You didn’t think that you would ever feel clean again.  No matter how many times you scrubbed, no matter how scalding the water.  Your skin was red from the scouring and pruned.  The water was getting cold, but you were too scared to leave the bathroom.  Teeth chattering, you finally gave up and dressed as quickly as possible.  At least the clothes were comfortable.

            The girl finally emerged to get a drink of water from the kitchen, although he supposed he didn’t have to keep calling her that since he knew her name now after finding her ID in her scrubs.  Maybe something more humiliating was in order.  He’d have to think about it.

            “As much as I’d like to continue to call you ‘asshole’ in my head, what do I call you?”  His head swiveled to the girl.  It was a question he hadn’t anticipated, and he had no logical reason for the answer tumbling from his lips.  He hadn’t thought of himself as a commander in a long time.

            You were proud that you managed to verbalize the question without your voice breaking, but the title he gave you offered no insight as to who he was and for whom he worked.  A name was hardly likely to help, but you were desperate for any knowledge that would give you some clue why you were taken.  Not that you were complaining, considering the alternative was liable to involve one of those giant-ass guns and end with a Jackson Pollock imitation.

            The “Commander” sat at the workstation in the main area and unless you wanted to sit in one of the hard kitchen chairs, the couch was your only option.  You were not about to hide in the bedroom, which might give him more ideas, and the bathroom…  A deck of cards sat on the coffee table that had gone unnoticed in the dark and the… events of the previous evening.  Faced with either staring at your rapist or the most boring game in the world, you set up a game of solitaire.

            Every so often you snuck a glance at what he was working on, most of which seemed to be catching up on emails that you couldn’t quite make out.  Still nothing that hinted at what he was involved in.  You were hyperaware of him at all times.  Each shift he made you swore you felt rather than heard.  That eerily silent way he moved didn’t help your alertness, which was tiring to maintain as you couldn’t relax, constantly on guard against another assault.  Startling at every little noise.

            At one point he cursed to himself in Spanish and you jumped.  The sudden movement jarred your nether region into a fresh round of complaint and you stilled in horror.  He’d finished inside you.  Your IUD guarded against pregnancy, of course, but STI’s were another matter entirely.

            “So, Commander, do I need to worry about it burning when I pee?”  He snorted in laughter and tried to cover it by clearing his throat.

            “No.”  At that she fell silent again.  He supposed that answered one question that had been bouncing around in the back of his head.  If she’d brought up the possibility of pregnancy he’d have had to get medical involved sooner than he wanted.

            He’d done some fucked up shit before.  As someone he once ran with would put it: this wasn’t his first rodeo.  But he’d also never had to hang out with them in between sessions and definitely never worried about knocking anyone up.  It was like a bad one-night stand that wouldn’t leave.  Unfortunately, none of the other rooms locked from the outside.

            When solitaire became boring- well, more boring than it was to begin with- you started building a house of cards.  You were never very good at them, and the tremors in your hands from the constant stress weren’t helping any.  Food would probably help, too, but your stomach felt differently about that.

            You wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water and remembered your search for a weapon last night.  After the embarrassment of forgetting priority number two, right after surviving, you told yourself you’d merely been waiting for an opportune moment when his guard was down.  Commander Asshole seemed pretty occupied with his fanfic (you’d entertained yourself with imagining he was working on the nastiest porn you could think of, involving bestiality and bodily fluids in situations that made even you shudder). 

            Holding your breath, you slid a drawer open.  Why the hell was there what looked like the freaking Batsuit in the kitchen?  Moving onto the next one, you hit paydirt.  Selecting a sizable one that looked like it’d come straight from the set of a slasher flick.  You held the blade flat against your leg and padded back to the living room.  Slipping around like you were going back to the cards, you tiptoed a step closer and brought the knife up.

            Your heart beat a rapid tattoo as if it were trying to escape your ribcage as you raised the weapon.  Then it leapt into your throat, restricting your airway.  Bringing the blade down you watched the metal tip sink into the headrest.  Stunned, you could only stand there and blink at thin air where he’d been only a second before.

            Movement in your peripheral caught your attention.  Panting, your eyes slid to the side to watch a tendril of black smoke curl around your wrist.  You were too terrified to move any other limbs.  The mist coalesced and solidified into a large, dark hand.  It was almost laughable how easily he knocked you to the ground and pinned you.

            “You thought you could get the drop on me?  That’s cute.”  Sitting on her hips, he drew his Ka-Bar and pulled one of her socks off.  She fell quiet, but he could feel her rapid, shallow breathing underneath him like a trapped hummingbird.  The silence only lasted until he drew the point in an idle arabesque along the arch of her foot.  When it dragged over the slight bumps of her toes, she flailed and bucked, which only made him grin wider.  The blade bit into the thin flesh, parting it easily.  She froze again, trembling from every muscle straining against instincts.  That would make the next part easier.

            “If you’d behaved, we wouldn’t be here right now.”  He took a moment to savour the tense stillness, the shuddering gasp, then the wail when her neuroreceptors registered what had happened.

            Never before had you felt so helpless, immobilized with his fingers holding your foot firmly and the pain as the knife sank in and severed the joint of your right pinky toe.  You tried to remember to breathe before you passed out, which wasn’t easy to do with a scary brick shithouse sitting on top of you and the agony.  And you couldn’t say he didn’t warn you, but you thought he’d been bluffing.  Unable to move, afraid to speak, you bawled into the floor.  The wound burned hot and cold with each pulse of your heart.  The sound of a lighter, the old-fashioned kind with a flip top, firing up filled your ears.  Shit, it wasn’t over.

            “Wh-what are you doing?” you stammered. 

            “Gotta cauterize it.  Can’t have you bleeding through your shoe when we move.”  The girl screamed and screamed until she finally passed out.  He cleaned the knife and went back to the computer to get some more work done before it was time to head out.


	4. Chapter 4

            You startled awake at the sound of your name and the boot nudging your ribs.  The agony on the outside of your right foot also helped drag you kicking and screaming back to awareness.  How the hell did he know your name?  Then you remembered the work ID in the pocket of your soiled scrubs, abandoned in the bedroom.  You could live without a toe, any risk of infection (who knew where the hell that knife had been?) was mitigated by an expertly applied bandage.  Either he’d had training, or he’d treated a lot of wounds in his day.  Small comfort because ad hoc cauterizations were a prime breeding ground for infection.  It was the unnecessary amputation that truly horrified you.

            “Put those on and get up.  We’re moving.”  He nodded at the jacket and pair of canvas shoes lying next to you.  Moving was the next to last thing you wanted to do right now, but the absolute last thing you wanted was to piss him off again.  Sitting up, your gorge rose when you noticed the severed digit sitting neatly atop a folded paper towel on the coffee table, chipped cobalt blue polish and all.  Like a goddamn conversation piece.

            “In case you’re the sentimental type,” he smirked at the lovely shade of green that washed over her face.  Underneath the mask, he leered at her hisses and groans as she eased her mutilated foot into the shoe.  He liked seeing her chastened, pale face far more than was advisable.  Shoving the emotion away, he shrugged into his trenchcoat and jerked his head for her to follow.

            Groaning, you drew yourself up at a snail’s pace.  Your foot throbbed with each limp.  You supposed that it served to hobble you in addition to punishment.  Apparently, psychopaths were coldly efficient.  A devious method, to be sure, which made you wonder how many victims he’d kidnapped and tortured.  Shuddering at the thought, you dragged yourself along using the furniture.

            The panel at the door that stymied you the night before scanned his face (evidently it was programmed to recognize his mask) and left hand.   The door slid open to reveal a small sort of multi-purpose area with some lanterns, cables, a shovel, various gadgets, and what looked like a gun on a sort of tripod.  Taking up most of the concrete box was a hovercycle.  With one hand banded around your upper arm, he dragged you behind him.  He let go of you long enough to straddle it, sweeping the tails of his coat in a dramatic flare.  In that getup and with his physique he really made for a striking figure on the beast of a bike.  You jumped at the sound of the engine firing.

            “What are you waiting for?”  With the mask back on, his speech was back to the nearly omnic quality, which confirmed your suspicions that there was a voice modulator built into the façade.  Gingerly, you swung a leg over and settled behind him.  The industrial steel door in front of you lowered into the floor to let brilliant sunlight spill in.

            “Uh, helmet?”  A somewhat sinister laugh was your answer.  How reassuring.  Cautiously, you scooted closer and wrapped your arms around him.  Metal plates protected his spine, skeletal in design like his mask.  They were cold and hard, digging harshly into your soft cheek.  The bike rumbled to life underneath you and all too soon you were heading out of the city to parts unknown.  Visions of your imminent demise and subsequent shallow grave played in your head.  Logically, you knew he wouldn’t bother with dragging you out to the middle of nowhere, and certainly not a grave, but your rational half wasn’t in the driver’s seat at the moment.

            Once or twice along the highway you did contemplate letting go, but you knew survival wasn’t guaranteed, especially without any protective gear.  Besides, he could easily turn around and retrieve your broken body, leaving you worse off than before.  The rushing wind was freezing, but you were mostly warm except your feet were freezing inside the thin shoes, which was good because it would help keep swelling down.

            Countryside and towns passed by in a blur until after what felt like hours, he took an exit towards Baltimore.  You’d been travelling longer, or faster, than you’d thought to have ended up here.  Finally, he brought the bike down in front of a non-descript building that blended in rather blandly with the rest of the industrial district you’d just passed through.  You were determined to go out standing on your own two feet.  Sliding to the ground, your stiff legs wobbled under your weight after the stress of clamping around the seat for so long.  The wound woke up angry.

            The girl released her death grip on him.  If she feared falling off more than him, and saw him as her only safety it was a good sign for his purposes.  He couldn’t wait until she would grip him between her thighs out of desire and not fear.  Well, ok, maybe a little fear.  The mask hid his grin as she stumbled like a new-born calf.

            She stared agog at the facility, its high-tech interior at complete odds with its crumbling exterior.  While they couldn’t use the existing windows, those were camouflaged so anyone looking in would only see a dusty warehouse, a complex series of mirrors and shafts provided natural lighting.  This system combined with holographic panels helped those in residence keep their sanity despite perhaps not setting foot above-ground for days.  He dragged the girl deeper, down to the cells.

            The people you passed stared at you instead of the industrial goth giant grasping your upper arm, his talons pricking your skin through the layers of fabric.  You began to wonder if you’d ever passed by such an operation before, trying to wrap your head around how an organization this large could operate essentially undetected.  Unfortunately, you were too distracted by the pain to fully get your bearings until you were in an elevator headed down.

            Everyone knew to stay out of his way, but he could feel their curiosity following her.  Even Sombra chirped in over comms, obviously watching them over the cameras installed everywhere in that creepy way of hers when she was physically in Brazil at the moment.  Or at least she was supposed to be.  Who knew with that chica?

            “Aw, you found yourself a girlfriend.  Isn’t that sweet?” she purred in his ear.

            “I don’t think so,” he snorted.  The little nurse looked up at him in askance, but quickly looked away when he gazed back at her.  Crimson eyes meant that he won most staring contests.  “You should stick to your own mission.”

            “Don’t mind me,” the hacker simpered.  “I know what I'm doing.  The question is, do you?”

            “Just collecting an asset,” he growled.  The “asset” in question whimpered, catching his attention.  His grip had tightened in annoyance and the metal tipped gauntlets pierced the coat and probably her flesh.  Other than that single whine, she hadn’t made a sound nor put up a struggle.  “Now do you have anything useful?”

            “I’m almost done here, boss.  Ahí nos vidrios,” she promised and dropped the line.  Although, he wouldn’t put it past her to be listening in somehow.

            At first you wondered if your captor was talking to himself until you realized you were only hearing one half of a conversation.  There must be a communication device built into his mask or something, not that you were about to ask.  You stopped in front of a solid steel door with another biometric panel.  There were dozens of similar ones lining the corridor that stretched away.

            Cement walls, floor, and ceiling were all you managed to take in before he shoved you forward.  Staggering forward, you tried to catch your balance on your hurt foot and tumbled to the ground, hard.  To your left there was a cot, to the right a stainless-steel sink and toilet.  You gaped up at him, seemed like you were doing that too much in the past…  had it only been 24 hours?  Why was he keeping you around?  Another thing that had been happening a lot.

            “Don't forget, you're the one responsible for this,” were his parting words before the door slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have had a little too much fun with squeezing in as many voicelines as possible. >.>


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind words of support. The crisis isn't over, but there's been improvement.  
> A huge thank you to DarkDrabblings for teaching me the type of Spanish I didn't learn as a kid. ;)

            You had no idea how long you’d been stuck in this dark concrete box, but judging by your hunger it couldn’t have been much more than a day.  Were you thrown in here to slowly starve to death like the oubliettes of old?  But that possibility made no sense after dragging you all the way here when a single bullet would have been far more efficient.

            With copious amounts of time on your hands in complete darkness, you kept revisiting the proceedings that led to your current predicament.  Logically, you knew you wouldn’t have done anything differently, certain habits were too ingrained like your route home and the instinct to take care of others.  Yet you also lied, telling yourself you could have fought more.  And most likely ended up short another toe or two.

            While replaying these events, you began to question your memory of when you’d tried to stab him.  Genetic experiments produced abilities never before dreamt of, but surely there was no way for a person to evaporate into mist, right?  You soon convinced yourself that your adrenaline-soaked mind had played tricks on you.  It was better than accepting the possibility that Commander Creepypants possessed supernatural qualities that made him monster in more than psyche.

            Then your mind turned to darker thoughts.  At first, anxiety twisted up your mind and insides over what he was possibly going to do to you.  That became too exhausting to maintain with your rapidly depleting energy and settled into a sort of depression tinged with fear and heavily laced with self-pity.  Would you ever be free again?  See your loved ones?  Hell, would you ever be warm again?

            As was to be expected, the cell was freezing, and you were thankful that he’d left you the jacket.  Still, you were rolled up in the thin blanket on the cot and curled into the fetal position, which was how he found you when he’d finally deigned to grace you with his presence.  Heart pounding until it threatened to burst, you scrabbled to sit up, which was difficult when you were wrapped up like a burrito. 

            He grinned with genuine amusement at the sight of her squirming upright like a plump caterpillar.  A simple jerk on the blanket and she tumbled to the floor, facedown.  Before the girl could recover, he kicked her legs apart and knelt between her knees to admire the black leggings that left nothing to the imagination (maybe he’d been a little too harsh on the quartermaster, after all).  But he hadn’t been too appreciative of the way her plush ass filled out the lycra.

            The simile “shaking like a leaf” had always sounded stupid to him, yet he found it an apt metaphor for the way she trembled underneath him, some of which was obviously tears.  She drew her arms down to protect her vulnerable sides.  Slipping a hand between the apex of her thighs, he was amazed at the damp heat that radiated even through his gloves.  He drew a metal talon along the hidden slit, enjoying the way she bucked when it pricked at her clit.  She bawled and demanded to know why, begged him to stop.

            He pressed his other hand firmly onto her ass and maintained the slightest pressure until she stilled.  She was still crying, but no longer fought or screamed.  Then he moved his claw, and not in the direction she wanted.  The metal tip pressed harder until the fabric parted like butter under a hot knife.  The point pricked the tiny bundle, although not enough to cause any damage.  Gasps broke through her sobs and the smell of her suddenly filled his nostrils.  Now this was definitely something he could use to his advantage. 

            “You’re an asshole,” she hissed.  His hand gripped her jaw till it ached and forced her neck at a painful angle to meet his cold stare.  Despite her best efforts to remain stoic, her lower lip trembled.  He studied her a beat longer to drink in the dread growing on her features.  Fear looked good on her.

            “Remember, I’m the asshole who uses and abuses you, princess.  You might want to be a little more respectful.  Then again, it’s more fun for me if you’re not.”  He chuckled darkly.  “Some people can only learn the hard way.  Please tell me you’re one of them.”

*          *          *

            You tried to crawl away.  You don’t know how you managed to find the strength to resist when you were so exhausted.  His talons dug into your hips until blood soaked your leggings, piercing and bruising.  The armour of his boots pressed into the soft flesh of your inner thighs in an unmistakable demand and you slowly spread your legs to allow him easier access.  Shame washed over you for giving in so easily.

            His broad body loomed above, and you instinctively wanted to recoil.  As he pushed himself inside of you, it felt as though he was also forcing the breath from your lungs, like there wasn’t enough room for both him and air.  And the pain, dear God the pain as your most delicate flesh tore, again, to make way for his inexorable girth.

            Screaming and begging did no good.  He continued to thrust into you as if he was trying to fuck you into the floor.  Or into pieces.  Eventually you just felt numb inside, like your soul had vacated the premises.  Part of you hoped it would stay away if it meant you didn’t have to fully experience the violation.

            Finally, he heaved himself off your limp, battered body.  Tears trickled onto the floor, but you didn’t feel them escape.  All you could feel was the throbbing between your legs and his seed oozing from your hole. Something landed next to your head with a faint thunk.  You flinched and tried to curl up on yourself, but your bruised core screamed in protest.  The bastard chuckled and left in a swirl of coattails.

            The package he’d dropped was a small first aid kit containing just enough supplies to tend to your amputation.  You were tempted to neglect the wound and die of sepsis.  It had to be better than this miserable existence.  Apparently, he wanted you to live, but you couldn’t imagine why.  There was no reason that you could conceive other than he enjoyed hurting you. 

* * *

          “Hola, tramposa.”  That deep, raspy voice took you from one nightmare only to wake into another.  You pried your eyelids open to see his pale mask.  Apparently, he turned on the lights so you could fully experience his cruelty.  “Are you going to behave for me?  Please say no.”

            Still in the fog of sleep, you panicked and struck out before you could overpower your instincts.  Your tiny fist punched his disturbing mask right in the nose and most likely did more damage to your knuckles than him.

            “You’re going to regret that, zorra,” he growled, eyes burning like two coals as his hands dropped to his belts.  “To voy a cojer hasta que te recuerdes quien es tu dueño.”

            It was probably several hours since his last assault.  You were tired, hungry, and filthy.  His fluids had dried into a stiff film on your upper thighs, along with a trace of your blood, that you’d tried to scrub away with water from the sink.  But that wasn’t enough to deter him, unfortunately.  He ripped the tear he’d made last time until it split wide over your ass.  Even though you were expecting it, the hard strike to your right cheek drew a scream from your sore throat.  Those damn talons left stinging trails along the soft mound on the follow through.  He quickly landed another, and another, until your ass burned and was undoubtedly crisscrossed with red lines.  The flesh was sure to bruise.  After a while, you’d stopped trying to fight him and your own screams.  Your wails echoed in the cell, no longer caring whether or not anyone heard you.

            Your sobs of agony turned to ones of relief when he finally stopped pummeling you.  The monster sat on his heels and licked his wicked claws clean, the dusky pink appendage slithering over the sharp metal.  He appeared lost in the throes of ecstasy like that, eyes half-shut and head tilted.  Feeling you watch him from the corner of your eye, he leaned towards you, and you can’t help but wriggle and squirm as he held your hips still with the now spotless hand.  The other taps at your tightly pursed mouth, the point digging deeper into your bottom lip until you reluctantly pried them open.  You nearly gagged at the foul, coppery taste coating your tongue while his dragged across the pulse point in your neck.

            His warm weight withdrew to prop your hips up so you were forced onto your knees.  However, you lacked the strength to push up onto your hands and remained more or less quiescent with your upper half still flat against the chilly floor.  The weeping began anew as he spread your cheeks apart to nestle the massive head of his warm cock against your asshole.

            Spit is no substitution for lube you soon discovered.  You’d thought the rape was horrible, but you had no idea what true horror was until he shoved himself inside your tight ring.  Unlike your womanhood, this channel couldn’t produce slick to defend itself against the battering.  Surely the pain was making you hallucinate because you were seeing tendrils of that weird black mist again.  They wrapped around your wrists to jerk them behind your back.  Your face and breasts dragged across the icy stone with every thrust.

*          *          *

            “Voy a romperte,” he promised.  It was such a hot, snug fit that he thought he might cum when he finally bottomed out.  She tightened around him in a futile attempt to expel him, but it felt like heaven.  Or at least as close as he’d ever get to the pearly gates.  The rhythmic squeezing, the darkening welts on her plump ass, the music of her weeping, wrists twisting under his coils …  He could easily get used to having a toy like this around.

            “Te mereces esto,” he grunted, enjoying the sound and feel of his balls slapping against her warm slit.  Her lips were still red and puffy from his last visit, which gave him an idea.  He sent another tentacle to worm its way into her mouth.  It wasn’t difficult since she was gasping in between sobs.  His mist form wasn’t as sensitive as his solid self, but he reveled in how dominant he felt having her entirely at his mercy.

            She was wearing too many clothes for his liking.  Drawing a razored fingertip along her spine, her clothing fell away to reveal the unmarked skin of her back.  Maybe next time he’d slice into it, perhaps etch his name into her, branding her for all to see.  The thought of carving her like a piece of property is what tipped him over the edge.  He buried himself to the hilt as the coil low in his belly snapped to whip through him, throwing his head back to roar his pleasure.

            The girl collapsed when he finally released her, bruises and weals covered her from hips to thighs.  His spendings, tinged pink with her blood, leaked from her ruined hole.  Taking a corner of her coat, he used it to clean his dick before tucking himself away.  Grinning at her limp, abused form one final time before leaving, he tossed over his shoulder: “This is your life now.  Maybe if you had some value I’d let you out.”


	6. Chapter 6

            Laying on your back, you stared at the ceiling while static crackled in your mind.  The seams of the reinforced ceiling and the stains on the slab of concrete below were etched into your memory, long since lost the ability to distract.  With a sigh, you rolled over onto your stomach and ignored the protests of your aching back.  Occasionally you’d hear the faint sounds of people in the hallway, the screams of what must be other prisoners, but no one ever came to your rescue.  At some point, you’d realized that no help would be coming.  There was no one to miss you.  To mourn you.  You were going to die down here.

            The lights would flicker on and bathe you in artificial light for extended periods, depriving you of sleep.  Then they would switch off for what felt like days to leave you naked and cold with your fears in the pitch black.  Not even a sliver of light could slip in under the door.  At first, you’d tried to knot around yourself the ruins of the clothing he’d shredded, but they became more and more tattered until you gave up and used them as the rags they were to clean up after he came.

            Food, if it could be called that, came on his sporadic visits.  Sometimes he would come, in both senses of the word, three times a day.  You had to guess at days, but you had no real way of tracking time.  Other intervals he didn’t darken your door once.  And every time you had to… perform before he’d allow you to eat.  It was obvious what he was doing, forcing you to associate submission with sustenance.  The irregular diet sapped your strength while reminding you that anything you had was entirely dependent on his whim.  At least you were given the supplies to keep your slowly healing foot clean and dry.

            Even though you knew, it was still working.  Each time you heard the door swing open you scurried to kneel on the hard, cold floor.  He seemed to like that.  Though the hinges were virtually silent, you quickly became attuned to the sound after the first few occasions you woke up with him already between your legs.  After a week of semi-starvation, you shed the cloak of dignity in the name of survival.  If being used meant you’d be fed, then you’d suck dick like a pornstar.  Not that you’d had much opportunity since he hadn’t appeared in some time.

            You hadn’t had the courage to ask about his ability to turn to mist.  Not that he was likely to answer you anyway.  Most conversations with him consisted of orders from him, tears from you, and lewd noises from both, no matter how much you tried to ignore the latter.

            The door swung open and you moved stiffly, joints protesting, to greet him in the perverted manner he preferred.  The mask was gone today to reveal his scarred, ashen face.  You had no idea how long you’d been lying there, certainly long enough for your body to have forgotten how to work properly.  Instead of watching you struggle like he had been as you rapidly lost muscle mass, he stepped forward.  It constantly amazed you how he could walk silently in those giant, armoured boots.  Then again, he was part mist so that should really be the least surprising of his abilities.

            This time he was almost… gentle.  Instead of pulling your hair, he ran his hands through your tresses and guided you back down to the mattress with slight pressure instead of jerks and tugs.  Goosebumps raised in the wake of his claws.  The excitement burning within you at the knowledge you were about to be used was sickening.

            “You’ve been such a good little girl, you get a reward.  See how much better it is when you give in?  I am bigger, faster, stronger than you.  You can’t fight back.”  His tone was almost kind, belying the content.  A dark chuckle reverberated from his chest pressing into your back, sparking a shiver through you that immediately hardened your nipples.  Face flaming, you turned towards the wall.  He took advantage of your bared neck and you arched with a gasp.  It didn’t matter that you were sore and exhausted, your body was already sitting up and begging.  You wanted to scream and fight, but that part of you grew weaker and weaker as the pleasure at away at your will.

            Was this Stockholm syndrome setting in already?  Or was this your messed up submissive nature choosing an abusive situation to rear its ugly head?  You couldn’t tell.  All you knew was that you hated yourself for the way you reacted, and loathed him for using your body and instincts against you.

* * *

            “What would your friends, your family say if they saw you like this, hmm, pequeña?”  He loved reading the expressions that wracked her body.  He’d never been one for poetry, but he loved the eloquent meter of the trembling in her spine as he ghosted his lips over the fluttering pulse in her neck.

            “They’d probably kick your ass.”  Her normally bright, honeyed voice was as flat and lifeless as her hair.  Or rather it was until he ground a thigh against her hot core.  She rewarded him with a lyrical gasp.

            “They could try,” he grinned dryly.  Normally he would punish her for the temerity, but it was the truth, undoubtedly, so he permitted it this once.  Biting the fingertip of a glove, he pulled it off with his teeth to free his hand.  He plucked at her pebbled nipples and enjoyed the resulting moans.  Truly, she was so responsive playing with her was like playing an instrument, and nearly as musical.

            The begging and crying had gradually subsided over the past week and a half to give way to groans and sighs as he learned her most sensitive areas.  He relished the way she melted under him as he manipulated her body.  Her sighs grew into panting, tension gave way to trembling, and ever so subtly she canted her hips to gain more friction from his leg between her thighs.

            “Spread your legs.  That’s all you’re good for anyway.”  A pale blush washed over her, but she obeyed.  “You’re ready for me,” he chuckled, running a finger along her slit.  The featherlight touch had her arching off the bed and making pathetic, needy noises.  “Maybe if you keep being a good little girl like this, I’ll let you out of this room.”

            “Yes, yes, please,” she moaned.  He could practically see her brain melting into the hormone soup saturating it.  “I’ll be good, just please…”

            “Please what, gatita?” he mocked, shifting his attention to tracing the sensitive crease of her thighs. You shuddered from the gentle strokes.  She tried to bury her face in the scratchy blanket, but he took her jaw in a bruising grip and forced her back towards him.  The feeble glare she shot him only served to amuse.  “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispered in her ear and she whimpered in response. 

            “Please fuck me,” she begged brokenly.  Tears slid down her temples.  As a reward he slipped one blunt finger in between her slippery folds and groaned at how wet she was.  Her inner walls clamped down on the digit, trying to keep him inside as he pumped in and out of her.

           She whined when he withdrew to remove his pants and armour.  Before he’d always remained fully clothed, including the mask, but now that she was breaking he felt he could risk it.  He didn’t miss the little pink tongue that darted over her lips when he released his erection, or the way her breath hitched when he returned to the cot to brace himself over her.  Eagerly, she wrapped her legs around his hips while he lined himself up with her pussy and plunged home.

            He grunted and she mewled as he allowed her to adjust to his girth.  Before, her cunt had always had a stranglehold on him due to her lack of arousal, which was not as comfortable for him as it sounded.  Now her velvety softness felt like heaven.  She met each thrust enthusiastically until her cool skin grew warm from passion and exertion.

            Filthy phrases spilled from his mouth in both Spanish and English and she reacted to the ones she understood, her cries becoming louder and louder as she grew tighter around him.  He hadn’t let her climax once yet, not that she’d been close until now.  And the knowledge that she was mindless with the lust he’d roused in her was about to take him over the edge.

            “That’s it, pet, cum for me,” he growled and drove himself to the hilt, which was even harder than when she was dry because she clamped down like a vise.  The resulting screams of pleasure rang out in the small room and he threw his head back to roar his own release, filling her with his spendings.

            Eventually, he came back to his body and pulled his over sensitive member out of her with a hiss.  Watching his essence spill out of her ruined hole stirred something deep and primal within him.  She watched him dress through eyes heavy with sleep.  He left her in silent darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

He was deep in your throat as part of his usual welcoming ritual.  The tops of your thighs were already damp.  You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed that he wouldn’t take long.  Then again, the longer he took, the wetter you became for what was to come.  The room was silent as a tomb save for the lewd noises, your face burned hotter and hotter with every slurp.  Tentatively, you peeked up to find him staring off into space, apparently lost in his own thoughts.  That just pissed you off.  If he was forcing you into this, the least he could do was pay attention!

“You’re filthy,” he frowned down at you.  Of course, you were.  You’d been used on a daily basis for who knew how long with no real way of cleaning up.  Not to mention you were disgusting for complying with your abuser, even getting aroused yourself.  _Oh shit.  I can’t feel this way.  I_ don’t _feel this way.  It’s not right._ Often, you’d berate yourself, but the rebuke had grown quieter and quieter over time.

There was really nothing for you to say, so you continued sucking until he withdrew from your mouth.  A disappointed whine definitely did not escape your throat.  You waited for an order, or for him to manhandle you where he wanted as he was wont to do.  True to form, he gripped your upper arms almost gently and helped you to your feet.  He was dressed down today and therefore not wearing the gauntlets, but if he was you were fairly certain that the talons wouldn’t have even pierced your skin.

“Here.”  He drew something from one of the many pockets in his black cargo pants and handed it to you.  Unfurling the fabric, you nearly cried.  It was a t-shirt.  You clutched it to your chest and babbled your gratitude.  “Wear it, don’t cry all over it.”  Despite his gruff words, you could almost swear there was amusement in his voice and for once it wasn’t directed at you like a weapon.

Tugging it over your head, you revelled in the feel of the soft black cotton against your bruised and abraded skin.  The hem fell to mid-thigh to provide more modesty than you had felt in what seemed like forever.  Suddenly, you empathized with Dobby the house elf and his sock.  Risking a glance up at his unmasked face, you were taken aback by the small but genuine smile curving his lips.  A smile.  Not a smirk, or a leer, or a sneer.

The door opened for him and he took your hand in his much larger one, the warmth comforting.  When it was clear you were to follow, panic gripped your throat in its icy fingers and froze your feet in place.  You weren’t exactly safe in the cell, but at least you knew what, and whom, to expect there.  He turned to you with a frown.  Oh shit.

He reached for your trembling form, but you knew better than to recoil.  Instead of beating you, he laid an arm around your shoulders and guided you over the doorsill.  Strangely, you found comfort in his touch.  The warm weight of his body against yours created a safe haven.  The voice in your head, now barely a whisper, murmured that it was because of the isolation and what was most likely becoming a raging case of Stockholm Syndrome.  Shivers danced down your spine at the knowledge that you’d soon be alone again, either in the dark or the bright light, depending on his mood.  You would take the kindness, false or not, while it was offered.

The hallway was as empty as it was the first time you glimpsed it as he led you a few doors down, for which you thanked your lucky stars.  You had no idea how you’d react if you encountered someone.  Probably not well and you didn’t want to try his newfound patience.  To your amazement, it was a shower room.  There were three stalls, each lacking a door or even curtain, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care now that you were faced with prospect of getting clean.  Yet, you looked to the Commander first.

Another smile.  Had you died and ended up in some twisted purgatory?  He gave you a slight nudge towards a shelf of towels and took a seat on a bench against the wall, stretching his long legs in front of him.  Closing his eyes, he seemed to settle in for a catnap.  You could try and get his weapon off him to kill him, force him at gunpoint to lead you out of the complex to sunlight and freedom, wreak the suffering he’d been inflicting upon you.  Yet none of that occurred to you.

You stripped off the t-shirt, carefully folding and placing it on the shelf.  The terrycloth towel felt thick and velvety as you hung it on a hook outside your chosen cubicle.  Against the white fabric the filth on your hands stood out like a sore thumb.  Once the water was running, mist soon swirled throughout the tiled room.

The pressure, the tingling as you washed yourself was enough to make you cry with joy.  You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this warm.  After scrubbing every square inch of your body, you let the hot water run over you to enjoy the pure sensation of something good after so much pain.  Throughout time and cultures, water was viewed as the ultimate cleansing force.  Now you truly understood why.  The darkness and anguish spiralled away down the drain.  Unfortunately, you lacked the stamina to continue standing and eventually were forced to leave the steamy stall.

His eyes were still closed when you wrapped yourself in the towel and he pointed at a small stack of clothing on the bench next to him.  You could have sworn it wasn’t there before.  Silent as the grave when he chose to be, that man.  He didn’t crack an eyelid while you dressed, even though you had no modesty left.  The clothes were loose and comfortable and almost enough to make you cry again.

Finally, he looked at you while you worked at the knots in your hair with the comb that sat underneath the clothes.  Another small smile transformed his face from what was once a terrifying visage to something a bit kinder, a bit more human.  You’re not sure when you stopped believing you lived in the best of all possible worlds.  Maybe it was when you were orphaned in the Omnic Crisis, or perhaps when you spent most of your teenage years on the streets.  If not then, it was most likely when you watched a child die after being beaten by a parent.  So whatever delusions you might have had about rescuing a fallen man had long ago died within you.  Since it couldn’t be the resurgence of girlish daydreams, then it had to be Stockholm Syndrome.  The spark of goodness you saw buried beneath all that black smoke had to be desperation to find some humanity in the monster.


	8. Chapter 8

            It had taken all of his resolve to not lift her legs over his arms, double her over, and fuck her against the wall until she screamed in pleasure.  Her moans would have sounded exquisite in the acoustics of the room.  He’d closed his eyes to block out the temptation.  There would be plenty of time to have her writhing on his cock once she no longer smelled.  And he’d be damned if she didn’t look a whole helluva lot hotter once she’d cleaned off two weeks’ worth of encrusted bodily fluids.

            “Que rabiosa que te ves, niña. Lista para que te ensucie otra vez.”  Standing to tower over her, she looked up at him, wide-eyed, as he brushed a thumb against her lower lip.  He couldn’t tell if she spoke Spanish or not, but her breast rose and fell a little faster, her face grew a little pinker, her cheek felt a little warmer at his husky words.

            Upon returning her to the cell, her face lit up when she saw the fresh bedding and extra blankets he’d had brought in.  Glowing, she was beautiful despite the dark circles under her eyes and sickly pallor.  She quickly stripped and knelt on the crappy bed.  That had been one of his favourite positions in which to take her.  Not only did it allow him greater control over her, but he could debase her in various ways: choke her, finger her puckered hole, press a booted foot to her head to grind her face against the floor…

            “Please.”  The plea dripped from her like the slick seeping from her folds.  The tiny entreaty, one he’d heard whispered and screamed many times in this very room, caught his attention.  Maybe it stood out because she was begging him to play with her.  His pet remained still, doing her best to fold in on her own spine.  That blissful acceptance, voice quivering from desire rather than distress, had his dick hard as a rock.

            “Yes,” he prompted.  She had learned not to speak out of turn.  The landmark in her progression, or rather digression, pleased him immensely.  He had moulded her to his own twisted ends, broken her to his will until she was complicit in her own degradation.

            “Please…” she trailed off brokenly, but he waited patiently as she squirmed.  “Please touch me.” 

            “Since you asked so nicely,” he purred, kneading a fistful of her luscious ass in one of the few areas it wasn’t bruised and adjusted his erection with this other hand.  Her hips swayed with his movements, her hungry pussy clenching on empty air as it sought friction.  Soon she was whining again, practically incoherent.  “Tell me what the problem is.”

            “Please touch me.”

            “I am.”  Too easy.

            “Please touch m-my… my pussy.”  The last word was whispered into the pillow, one of her newest luxuries.  He ran a thumb ever so gently, so slowly up and down her sopping slit as a reward, wringing a keening cry from her.  The clear fluid gliding down her thighs made his mouth water, which gave him an idea.  Reaching around, he slipped the same thumb into her mouth, open from panting.  He knew that if her eyes were even open, they’d be rolled back inside her head as she closed those lips, no longer as badly chapped, around him.  Her tongue swirled across the pad and she hummed at the taste of herself, rubbing her cunt against his bulge like a dog in heat.

            Groaning, he sat back on his heels, pants drawn tight across his broad thighs as he reached for his belts.  She pouted and bucked at the loss of contact, but didn’t otherwise move.  He quickly divested himself of his clothes.  It would be the first time he was naked with her and he wanted to feel every inch of her softness twisting sinuously underneath him.  The other times he’d merely released his member and remained otherwise clothed to drive home the point of how vulnerable she was.

            “Have you finally learned your place?” he hummed and slammed himself balls deep.  For once it wasn’t painful for her because she was so wet, so warm.  She arched into him, back bowing beautifully, with a howl that sounded vaguely affirmative.  Words were beyond her at the moment.

            Instead of using her like a cocksleeve, he took his time to enjoy himself.  Long, unhurried strokes that maddened them both with the slow tightening in their bellies.  A roll of the hips that always made the girls back home go “¡Ay, papi!”  The tight fluttering of her silken walls as she approached her climax was enough to take him over the edge, but he resisted.

            “Do you deserve a reward, mi cielo?” he whispered in her ear, having pulled her up flush with his chest and her knees splayed open with his own.  An uneven groan was her only response.  The girl’s head sagged back onto his shoulder, her hair faintly tickling the curve of his neck, when he curved one hand around her throat.  His other hand slid down her pliable mound to where she was split open on his shaft.

            Playing with the tiny bundle of nerves, she convulsed so strongly she nearly expelled him.  He grinned wickedly and slammed her back down to trap that bundle between his thumb and pelvis.  At the same time, he bit deeply into the satiny flesh just below her ear.  In her ecstasy, she screamed and squeezed down on him like a vise until he saw stars.  The lightning cascading about his body burst through his cock.  His orgasm seemed to go on forever as he pulsed his load, hot and heavy, over her cervix.  Finally, he released her to slide limply off of him to lie boneless before him.  His seed and her own slick seeped from her lips to drip onto the fresh sheets. 

            “Has anyone told you how adorable you are when you’re a fucked out, drooling mess?”  It wasn’t merely humiliation, it was also truth.  Hair wild from drying during your activities, breasts shaking with each shuddered breath, she was beautiful.  Making no move to cover herself, her eyelids fluttered shut.  His cock began to seriously calculate its refractory period.


	9. Chapter 9

            Afterwards, he’d brought you a hearty stew and crusty bread with a soft centre.  After a long nap, deeper than you’d had in ages, there was more food and with it came mental clarity.  Or as close as you came to it these days.  Shame eroded the edges of your thoughts, constantly reminding you of how you’d begging, writhed, and screamed with pleasure.  You’d completely debased yourself, willingly, without any promise of reward.

            Despite your misgivings, you wished he were there, whispered praise when you gave into to your baser urges.  You studied your sock-covered foot as you often had during your internment, although now you actually had socks, driving home the empathy for house elves.  The limp corner of your sock sagged slightly where your littlest piggy should have been.  Covered with thin, shiny pink scar tissue, it had healed well despite the makeshift cauterization.  You supposed the first aid kits he’d been bringing had a little something more in them than antibiotic ointment and pre-treated bandages than what you could get at the local drugstore.

            The absence of the digit used to remind you of how evil he was.  Lately, it only reminded you to do as you were told.  You wanted to submit.  Everything was so much better when you were obedient.  You shook your head to dislodge the strange thoughts, even though you knew they’d quickly seep back in.  Instead, you tried to focus on when he’d hurt you, no matter how painful it was to relive the hazy memories.

            “Why?” you croaked from where he’d dropped you on the floor after fucking- no, raping- you hard against the wall.  For foreplay, he’d torn up your back with those damned claws.

            “I felt like destroying something beautiful.”  At the time you certainly had felt destroyed.  Now, you felt a warm glow when you realized that he thought you were beautiful.  That alone should have been terrifying, but that warmth was sinking lower and lower until it settled between your legs.

            You tried to remember the pain, the fear, anything to stop your body from reacting the way he’d trained it to.  Instead, you could hear his voice growling in your ear and feel his hand on your throat.  The remembered sensations only served to fan the flames in your belly until the new panties were soaked.  You were almost certain that there was a hidden camera somewhere in the room from the sly remarks he’d made about the nightmares you’d had. 

            After everything that had happened, you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you stripped the clothing off your lower half.  A minute later, your hand slipped between your folds to circle the stiff bud hidden there.  Your hips jerked off the mattress at the first caress.  Was he watching the camera feed or was it some lowly minion?  Could they see how wet you were?  How conditioned to his touch you’d become?  Perhaps later you’d be horrified at how aroused you were at the thought.

            “Do you need something, cariño?”  She jumped guiltily and closed her bent legs.  She was adorable when embarrassed.  “What did I tell you?”    Her blush deepened, but she let her knees relax until she was spread open before him.  He cleared his throat and waited.

            “To never hide myself from you,” she replied in a tiny voice as he divested himself of clothes.

            “Good girl.”  It was almost laughable how easily she responded to praise, even more so than most war orphans he’d met.  He stretched out on the lumpy bed next to her, forcing her to shift closer to the wall.  “I want you to ride me.”

            The pink tinge spread down her throat, but she quickly straddled him and impaled herself on his already erect member with a groan that he echoed.  So warm, so tight.  She’d lost strength due to the privations, and rapidly losing energy, but she did her best to fuck herself on him.  Each roll of her hips he rewarded with a thrust of his own.  Her walls tightened down on him, as if afraid to let him go.  As her vigor waned, he gripped her ass and lifted her up and down his length until she was little more than a rag doll.

            Her head tilted back, eyes rolled up into her skull, and she gripped his hands as though silently urging him to take her harder, faster.  And the way her breasts bounced had his mouth watering.  Dropping her roughly, he captured a plump nipple in his mouth.  She gasped, squirmed, and rippled around him as he worried at the perky nub between his teeth.  He was far from gentle, but she made no attempt to pull away.

            Flipping them over so the girl was on her back underneath him, he leaned back with her ankles loosely gripped in each hand and began to truly pound into her cunt.  She screamed and arched and every little wiggle spurred him on, faster and harder.  Her small hands grasped at his thighs, leaving faintly burning trails from her nails.  Lewd, wet sounds filled the cell, but she no longer seemed to care like she once did.  The idea that he’d broken her of all reservations was enough to tip him over the peak, yet he had to test how much control he had over her.

            “Cum for me, pequeña.”  Before he’d even finished the diminutive, her wet silk clenched him with an iron grip.  His vision went white as he emptied himself into her with a roar that drowned out her screams.

            When he came back to his senses, she blinked drowsily at him with a smile.  New bruises were already deepening where he’d manhandled her, yet she was apparently content despite his weight that must have been crushing her.  Against his better judgment, he pressed his lips to hers, no longer cracked and scabbed.  She was soft and yielding, welcoming him in with kitten flicks of her tongue.

            Sleep soon overwhelmed her, the abuse he'd visited up on her draining her reserves, but she didn’t try to wriggle out.  Lashes fluttered shut.  The heaving of her breasts slowed.  She appeared nearly serene, the dignity stripped away returned to her.  He couldn’t keep away from her.  Her face, her voice, they brought him peace he hadn’t known since he put on the mask.  He was becoming too attached.  Now that she was thoroughly his, Talon’s, he needed to step back before she could be used against him.  Every time he took her, he made himself false promises that it was the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hubby’s finally off of 12 hour night shifts so I actually get to see him again! Next weekend’s an SCA event, which I may or may not be attending/teaching at. The weekend after that, we have a weekend getaway for my birthday at a hot springs spa.
> 
> In other words, I have a life again! Please don’t expect any writing any time soon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to @darkdrabblings for drooling brainstorming yumminess and making me both hungry and homesick.

            You woke surrounded by warmth and you stretched languorously, spine arching off the bed.  Contentment sang in your veins to lull you back to the cocoon of slumber.  For the first time in what felt like forever, you were free of aches and pains.  Even the bruises decorating most of your body had faded to yellow and green.  Your previous attitude seemed silly, childish even, when you thought about it.  There were no bills to worry about, no job, no stress as long as you did as you were told.  Heck, you didn’t even have to cook since he brought you plenty of food.  Sure, it was lonely and boring, but the Commander spent a sizable portion of time with you since your change in attitude.

            Rolling over and curling up again, you hugged the pillow to yourself.  The position triggered a visceral memory of one of your lowest points.  You’d tried to punch him.  In punishment, he’d hung you by your wrists, the chain suspended from a hook in the ceiling, and beat you with his hands and feet like a punching bag.  Despite the abuse, no significant damage was done: no cracked ribs, no internal bleeding, no torn tendons.

“Don't forget, you're the one responsible for this.”

When he finally allowed your battered form to collapse to the cold floor, you coiled around his leg to rest your cheek on his armoured foot.  He allowed you a few minutes of the strange comfort you found in the contact before kicking you away.  The last tread marks from his boots had disappeared at some point when you weren’t looking.  Not that it was easy to see your ass without a mirror, and you’d stopped poking at your wounds just to feel something, to remind yourself that you were alive.

            The door opened and you immediately genuflected, but the person standing in your doorway was a complete stranger.  He wore urban fatigues, a singlet that looked like it was painted on, and combat boots.  You waited, still kneeling, too surprised and confused to do anything else.  You weren’t about to greet him like the Commander, but neither were you about to fight him.  He hadn’t let anyone else hurt you, surely he wasn’t about to let that happen now?  Racking your brain for any recent misdeeds to garner a punishment, you could think of nothing.

            “Come on, haven’t got all day,” he grumbled and stepped backward, gesturing for you to follow.  He revealed no reaction to the sight of you waiting in submission, although you were more concerned with who he was than his impression of you.  You slowly rose to your feet and crept along after him. 

            He ushered you to the bathing room, but didn’t enter.  Instead he thrust a roll of clothing at you with instructions to get cleaned up and leaned against the wall, apparently in wait for you.  Still, you carefully drew the curtain tightly to the edges of the shower stall, using some water to plaster the thin material to the tiled partitions on either side.  You finished your ablutions as quickly as possible, feeling far more exposed in the empty, white room than you had last time with your man in black.  The thought of him there with you, the confidence that he wouldn’t allow anyone else to harm you, eased some of the tension knotting your chest.

            Oddly, the clothes were actually scrubs, including a soft long-sleeved undershirt.  The extra layer would be appreciated since you’d lost so much weight.  Shrugging, you dressed quickly and tugged on the canvas shoes in the bundle.  Once you were as ready as you were ever going to be, you stepped back into the comparatively cold corridor, mist swirling in your wake.

            The silent guard led you up and out of the catacombs to the occupied levels and into an office where he left you alone.  It must be part of a medbay or something because the familiar scent of disinfectant filled your nose.  You didn’t take a seat in the chair facing the desk, opting instead to leisurely pace the small space.  No art decorated the walls, nor were there any pictures on the desk, but this room had the sense of being regularly occupied.

            You only had a few minutes to inspect the new environment before the Commander strode in to fill it with his presence.  Dropping to your knees on the thin carpet, the dull ache of the impact didn’t register through the joy that threatened to close your throat and spill from your eyes.  Your god had returned and you wanted to worship at his altar.  You didn’t have time to reach for his pants before he motioned for you to stand; you promptly complied.

            “Someone will be here in a minute.  You will obey her as if she were me,” he gipped your chin firmly, but not so tightly that the claws broke skin.  “Am I clear?”  Eyes wide, you nodded despite his talons, curiosity welling up till you thought you’d burst.  He wasn’t wearing his mask and every inch of him conveyed that he was not in the mood to be questioned.  At the sound of a hand on the doorknob, he swiftly released you to address the statuesque redhead who entered. 

            “Moira, you got a new recruit.”

* * *

             Dr. O'Deorain scared the hell out of you.  It wasn’t the androgyny, nor the heterochromia.  She was straight up the incarnation of Mengele.  Perhaps you were naïve, but you genuinely believed doctors should focus on healing, not experimenting on humans.

            The work itself wasn’t bad, you were mostly assigned the basic stuff like physicals and intake. Other than the uniforms and probably illegal genetic research, it was a lot like any other clinical setting.  Only you didn’t have to deal with gang members threatening you for asking too many questions like their name, or parents demanding to know why you couldn’t just give their kid antibiotics for the flu.  Best of all, though: no fecal matter in places it had no business being.

            And you had an actual room!  Sure, it wasn’t much more than a bed, closet, and entertainment console.  And you were escorted to and from by a minion, but they never said much, just looked bored.  But it wasn’t locked, and you were free to use the communal bathroom down the hall.  You never tested the boundaries and kept only to areas you were explicitly allowed to be.  The thought never even occurred to you, you were so grateful.

            All in all, things were pretty good.  So why were you moping around?  You had everything you needed, but you still felt empty, like you were a ghost floating through the background.  Sometimes you even felt numb and detached, the same as when you were in that hole.  When that happened, you wondered if some vital part of you was left behind in the darkness.

            Instead of your usual grunt babysitter waiting to escort you to dinner and then back to your room, the Commander leaned in the doorway with a thumb thrust casually behind one of his belts.  The mask was off and you realized it’d been some time since he’d worn it in your presence.  His eyes burned with a light that used to frighten you, but you couldn’t imagine why when it usually meant you’d wind up as a limp puddle after countless orgasms.  The wave of memories and hopeful anticipation threatened to buckle your knees under the corresponding weight of arousal.

            “Hi, Commander.”  You fisted your hands in the pockets of your scrubs; they were shaking with the need to touch him.  It felt like weeks since you’d seen him last, even though it was only a few days, and you were overwhelmed.  Your heart felt raw and sensitive, as if it would burst with every inhale.  Wanting to drink your fill of him, you respectfully cast your gaze downwards to avoid staring.  Wait, don’t look _there_!  Your mouth watered as you remembered the usual greeting between the two of you, the velvety feel of him on your tongue, every bump and vein as he filled your throat.

            He turned on his heel to stride off, his pace significantly shortened in expectance for you to follow.  Scurrying to follow, you had a plethora of questions bubbling up in your mind, first and foremost was if your performance was satisfactory.  Instead of shepherding you towards the cafeteria, he guided you down corridors you were fairly certain you’d never seen before, although they all looked alike.  The further you went the faster your heart beat.  Would he take you back to the windowless room far below?  It was too much to hope that he missed you.  You’d lain awake in the dark (he’d granted you regular hours of light and darkness, resetting your circadian rhythm and giving you a sense of time), slipping your fingers between your folds and trying to fill the emptiness you felt whenever he left.  You couldn’t bring yourself to the same heights of pleasure that he could, your body had grown addicted to his touch.


	11. Chapter 11

Her face lit up when she saw him and had more than just his cock waking up.  Her light was filling parts of him that had lain in shadow since the bright faith of his youth had died.  The breaking had only eclipsed it for a time, and now she shone like a blinding beacon.

The smell of homemade tortillas and piquant sauce washed over them when he opened the door to his quarters.  As a member of the inner council, he had a small apartment, complete with a kitchenette.  He pointed to the table sized and set for two and trusted her to take a seat without looking.

“¡Chin!  You’re making flautas without me?” Sombra pouted into his ear.  One of these days he’d remember to remove his earbud on his downtime, not that he had much, but he preferred a bit of quiet when he could get it.  He smirked at her idle threats of withholding buñuelos and galletas as punishment for cooking without her.

He popped out his comm, tossed it on the counter, and bent to open the tiny oven.  Steamed billowed out, the fried taquitos still sizzling.  He gathered up bowls of condiments in his other arm and deposited everything on the table.  The girl watched him, wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape.  He wanted to put something other than food in between those plush lips.  Speaking of which, where did he put the cream?

“It’s in the refrigerator,” he muttered to himself and retrieved it.

It had been less than two weeks since he’d taken her body and he was craving her worse than any drug.  He hadn’t been this hung up on anyone since he was young and dumb.  His cock was already heavy and frustrated with the confines of his pants.  As much as he wanted to skip dinner, he could hardly bend her over the counter and drill her until neither of them could walk.  That would set her back, and she was slowly gaining back some weight.

What the fuck was he doing?  He’d tried to tell himself that he felt like some home cooking and didn’t want to eat alone.  He just wanted to get his dick wet and this was the most expedient way of going about it, even if it meant spending an hour making tortillas by hand.  She was still too thin, anyway.

* * *

While the cafeteria food wasn’t that bad, this was a veritable feast in comparison that had you salivating.  You weren’t quite sure where to start.  While you were staring, he placed several on your plate and topped it with fresh salsa, crumbly white cheese, and some sort of sauce.

“Thank you, Gabriel.”  He snapped his head up to stare at you, as inscrutable as if he was wearing his mask.  “M-Mr. Reyes?  Commander!  I-I’m sorry!  I overheard your name and…” you trailed off when he didn’t seem angry.

“S’okay, just surprised is all,” he shrugged and went about himself dishing up his own plate.

“I mean it, thank you.  Not just for dinner.  I’m glad to be working again.” 

“You’re welcome.”  His eyes locked onto you with laser precision.  A blush washed over your face, which you tried to hide by digging in.  The first bite had your eyes fluttering shut.  You couldn’t remember the last time you’d tasted anything this good, ever.  As intimate as the two of you had been, it was strange to be sharing a meal, like the usual progression of things had been reversed.

Most people would have felt the need to fill the air with chatter, but both of you were content with the sounds of classic rock playing in the background.  As you ate in the comfortable silence, you watched the efficient manner in which he went about the meal, like he was more accustomed to eating on the run than in a social setting.  Although the apartment probably didn’t count as a “social setting;” it wasn’t even decorated.  The few personal touches seemed more as if he’d simply found a flat surface for items he didn’t use often.  Add a stack of textbooks and it’d fit in on any college campus, although it was infinitely neater than any dorm room you’d ever seen.

He finished first and reclined in his chair, combing a hand through his shock of hair.  It was long enough he could probably put it up in a tiny ponytail.  You wondered what it’d feel like to weave your fingers through the thick, dark hair.

Heart in your throat, you stood up and slowly approached him.  He watched you with one brow arched.  Once, that simple quirk would have sent you cowering in a corner, but you dropped to your knees with far more grace than you would’ve had two months ago.  Practice helped.  He watched you reach for his belt, a predator keeping track of its prey.

You drew back his boxer briefs, in his favourite non-colour of black.  Reyes shifted his weight to make it easier for you.  You eased his member out and marveled, not for the first time, at how velvety he felt in your fist.  He leaned back as though offering himself up to you and watched you lave his cock with your tongue.  Maintaining eye contact, you worked your way down his length until he was fully seated in your throat.  The hitch in his breath, the slackness of his jaw was your reward.

* * *

He stared down at the girl.  He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or dismayed to see her still serving him.  At least she hadn’t the few times they’d seen each other since her conditioning had reached its conclusion.  Not that he’d considered that possibility in vivid detail.  It was only the likelihood of getting caught by other that kept him from trying this exact scenario in his office.  He’d have to kill whoever thought that they could treat her the same way he did, which would be bad for morale.

“I made some dessert, but if this more your style, I won’t stop you.”  Pink spilled over her pretty features, but she didn’t pull away.  “I’m going to talk.  You’re going to continue and listen closely.”  She blinked and nodded up at him, mouth still full.  A flash of a smile flickered over his face.  How long had it been since he’d smiled?  Truly smiled.  He brushed a thumb along her cheek.  She always had the softest skin, no matter the abuse he’d made her suffer.

“Four days from now I’m going on a mission and I want you to come with me.”  She gave a subvocal hum in acknowledgement that vibrated all the way up his spine.  “I’ll keep you in the shadows, out of the line of fire.  You’re to patch me up and anyone else who needs it.  Follow orders and you’ll be fine.”  How he wished he could still find comfort in the platitude, no matter how false it was.  The trust in her eyes cut him to the bone.

* * *

Commander Reyes picked you up and set you in his lap, poised right above his cock.  Holding your gaze, he gripped you around the waist and pulled you down onto his cock.  You twirled your hips to find the right angle to sink down onto him.  When you found it, you slammed down until you took him to the root and trembled as if electricity ran through your veins.  This was what you’d been missing: the fullness, the warmth, the sense of bliss in knowing your place and exactly was expected of you.  You’d never been on top before and the new sensations were exquisite.  He thrust up into you, a reminder of who actually held the power.

You don’t remember him fucking you face-to-face without his mask.  This felt too intimate, too raw.  Yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his.  You saw the cruel master you first met still swirling in those crimson orbs like that eldritch smoke that seemed to be a part of him.  Now there was more, a light that hadn’t been there before and you didn’t know what it signified.  All you knew was you loved him, even though you know you shouldn’t.  “The heart doesn’t understand logic,” you tell herself.

Rolling your hips, you groaned as he hit all of your secret spots and some that you’d never known existed before.  The arch of your back put your breasts on display for him, of which he took full advantage.  He feasted on your pert nipples, drawing as much as he could into his mouth.  It was delightfully sinful torture that had you grinding down onto him.

“Come for me.”  You were so shocked you nearly stopped.  Never before had he given much concern for your pleasure.  Oh sure, he loved pointing out your body’s betrayals, but he’d never seemed to care whether or not you found completion.  You weren’t about to disappoint him now that he did.

He flicked your clitoris once and then pressed down, hard.  A final plunge, as deep as you’d ever taken him, you screamed your climax.  He came with you, milking more and more out of you with rhythmic rolls of his thumb until you were sobbing and babbling your thanks, some of which you’d burn with embarrassment to remember later.  Finally easing up, he pulled you to him before you could slide to the floor, boneless.  You nuzzled into his neck and fell asleep with him and his scent filling you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of his voice lines are just so random I couldn't pass up the opportunity to slip one in there.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pandabearer is an awesome beta reader because positions are hard.

“What if I run out of ammo?” you asked.

“Don’t worry about that,” Reyes answered gruffly.  How could you not worry? But you were not about to press him when there was that edge to his voice.  He handed the weapon to you. The gun looked like a toy in his large hands, he’d had to curl his ring and pinky fingers underneath the guard like he was holding a tiny teacup, whereas it fit yours perfectly.  The guard ran fully around your hand to the grip and the trigger was situated up under the barrel, or was it called a stock?

Undoubtedly, he could have had a minion teach you instead; not that you were about to argue!  Indeed, you enjoyed being close to him because every time the two of you touched, a tingle rippled through your body.  The way he moulded your body into the correct posture had your toes curling inside your own light combat boots. You were pretty sure that there was no need for him to stand right behind you, pressed length to length, caging you in his arms as he made minor shifts. 

You were gripped by the urge to arch and rub against him like a cat.  He stepped away before you could give into the compulsion. And you knew that as much as he might appreciate your arching at any other time, he was in no mood to play.  He was genuinely worried, otherwise he wouldn’t be here teaching you.

“Safety?”  Face warming, you flicked the safety off and tried again.  “Widen your stance.” Black boots, unarmoured versions of the ones he wore when you first met, kicked your feet farther apart.  Your breath hitched at the casual manipulation of your body. If he noticed your reaction, he gave no sign. 

“Again.”  You made note of the new position of your feet and re-squared your shoulders, but that still wasn’t quite right.  “Lock your wrists. Try shooting like that with anything bigger than that squirt gun, you’ll hit yourself in the face on the recoil.”  You followed his instructions. 

“Fire.” 

You’d never felt strongly about omnics one way or the other, but it felt wrong to aim a deadly weapon at one, even if it’s “face” was only a round, yellow light.  How would you react if you had to shoot someone? According to him, it shouldn’t come to that. You hoped he was right.

“ _ Fire _ .”  The shot went high.  The second too low. Again and again you fired, honing in your sights.  Geez, it wasn’t even moving and you couldn’t hit the damn thing! He watched your failure without saying a word.  Or at least you assumed he watched, too self-conscious to risk a glance over your shoulder. 

You’re not certain how many times you shot before you ran out.  He took the gun from you, reloaded, returned it to you, and stepped back in the time it took you to sigh in frustration and inhale again.  The pattern repeated several more times until you finally hit more times than you missed. 

He took the gun without refilling the ammunition.  You were grateful because all of the muscles in your upper body were aching from the tension thrumming through you.

“Good pet,” he praised you with a proprietary stroke of your hair.  You couldn’t help the small smile and pink dusting your cheeks. “I believe a prize is in order.”  You bite your lip and cast a furtive glance upward to search for video feeds. “Yes, there are cameras,” he chuckled.  “But I don’t believe in delaying rewards.” You stared up at him, frozen. You hadn’t felt this shy since you first came here.  “Strip, gatita.” 

You drew down the zipper to the tactical suit he’d given you.  A patch on the right shoulder bore a red T so stylized it looked like it had fangs.  Apropos for such a powerful, yet stealthy organization. Once you peeled the dark, rip-resistant material off your arms and shoulders it fell to your waist.  You had to shimmy it the rest of the way off. You hadn’t seen any of the others wearing such a form hugging uniform. Then again, you hadn’t yet seen any of them in full combat gear.  Well, other than Reaper.

It had finally clicked once you saw the symbol on the uniforms most people wore.  He had to be the one they call Reaper. You didn’t make a habit of keeping up with the news, but even you’d heard of him.  Not that you knew anything to begin with other than names and vague descriptions, and you still didn’t know much more now. About Talon, that is.  You felt like you knew your commander pretty well now. Not that he’d ever confided in you. He didn’t have to since you could recognize his moods as readily as your own.

You’d forgotten about the boots and had to fumble them off with the suit bunched up around your knees.  Finally managing to extricate yourself, you folded the clothing and set it on the narrow table. Without the fabric acting as a second skin, your flesh immediately pebbled.  Not just from the cool air, but from being exposed in such a large room. Oh, and you mustn’t forget the cameras. Just when you thought you’d finally become comfortable in your sexuality, you froze.  Your shoulders crept in on themselves and you clasped your hands in front of your body. The posture, while it helped hide your mound, pushed your chest outward like an offering.

“Getting wet thinking about how many people are watching?  Wondering how many know you’re my little whore?” Your stomach, and things a bit lower, clenched at the thought of anyone watching this.   He pressed up against you and you could feel the hard ridge pushing into the flesh of your ass. This time you did moan and rub against him; your reward was a growling hum of approval. 

“Needy little slut.”  His hands came around to cup your breasts and lifted like he was presenting them to an audience, pert nipples clearly visible.  “What do you say we give ‘em a good show? Prove your loyalty? Show them how much you want this.”

Your brow furrowed, unsure what he meant for you to do.  A few ideas flitted through your head but were too mortifying to contemplate.  Understanding your confusion, he roughly thrust two fingers into your channel and scissored them.  Before you could enjoy the stimulation, he withdrew held his hand up for you to see your juices coating his digits, sticky strands stretching thin when he separated them again.    Your face, and your core, burned and you squirmed with shameful arousal.

“Down.”  He snapped his fingers and you dropped to your knees like the well-trained pet you were, slick coating the tops of your thighs and dripping onto your calves.  He wedged your knees apart with a boot until you were spread wide and grinned. “Just how I like it. You like it, too, I can smell it.” 

You desperately wanted to cover yourself, but he’d long since broken you of the instinctive habit.  Instead, you whimpered and kept your hands on top of your thighs. A hand petted your hair in reward for obedience and you leaned into the rare affection.

“Who do you belong to, puta?” he crooned.

“You, sir.”

“That’s right.”  His fingers massaged your scalp and you melted into the touch with a happy little sigh.  “Your body, your pussy, you are mine. If I want to put on a little show for my soldiers, I will.  But don’t worry, little one, no one else gets to touch my property but me.” His hand retreated, and you pouted at the loss of his touch.

He didn’t keep you waiting for long, though.  The familiar clink of a belt buckle sounded behind you, immediately followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper.  Kneeling behind you, he hoisted you up by the hips and plopped you down onto his cock. You were soaked, making his entry effortless.  ip controlled your movements, keeping you upright when you would have dropped to all fours for better leverage. His knees kept yours spread wide apart and put your most hidden places laid bare for the theoretical audience.  At least, that’s what you told yourself since you hadn’t spotted any cameras yet. The way the two of you knelt, combined with the fact that he remained clothed, meant you were the one on display.

All thoughts of remote spectators flew out of your mind as he began to move.  You tried to ride him, but he lifted and slammed you back down onto his shaft, his thighs flexing under you like corded steel.

Each hard thrust drew moans from you that rose and dipped in pitch accordingly.  The sheer strength of him focused on fucking you senseless was intoxicating. Your head lolled back onto his shoulder and he nipped lightly at your throat, sending shudders racing through you, then kissed the small hurt.

“Play with yourself.”

The familiar feel of your fingers over your clit was too much sensation, forcing your inner walls to constrict even as he stretched them.  Your cries and his grunts echoed throughout the empty room. The way he pressed against the sensitive patch just inside your channel combined with your own manipulation of your bud had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

His hips surged upwards and he ground you down onto his shaft, twitching and swelling with his release.  You clenched so hard around him as you climaxed that he growled and gripped you tighter to remain buried within your heat until he was finished.  There would undoubtedly be bruises along your hips. Thick, white cum dribbled out of you and onto the floor.

“Good girl.”

* * *

 

Like always, he woke up suddenly and completely.  However, it took him a moment or two to realize what was different.  In his experience “different” usually presaged incidents involving running, screaming, and ordnance in places generally considered unhealthy for living beings.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he looked at the girl sleeping beside him; her dishevelled hair nearly obscured her face, which was almost angelic as she slept peacefully.  But an angel would never have done the things she had, nor come to care for a devil such as him. Gently brushing aside her hair, her cheek was smooth and warm under his palm.  Ever since he’d stumbled upon her, dead parts of him were coming back to life, like crocuses popping up through melting snow.

After leaving the range, he’d brought her back to his quarters and cleaned them both up in the shower.  They cooked dinner together in his kitchenette, carefully dancing around each other in the tiny space as they worked.  She wasn’t much of a cook, but luckily, she followed instructions in the kitchen as well as she did in the bedroom. Although the domesticity was alien, it was nice.

For dessert, he made love to her and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

He’d lied and told her that the cameras were disabled.  They were fully functional, but he’d locked them so that only he or someone with a higher security clearance could access the feed, which he’d recorded to his personal files.  Telling her the truth would only rob her of sleep and shatter her trust, both of which she’d need on the mission.

He felt himself grow hard in more ways than one.  He couldn’t afford to be distracted in the field, which he would be if he allowed himself to feel affection for her.

Drawing his hand back, he struck her across the jaw with an open hand.  Her bottom lip split and oozed blood. She would feel like her head was exploding; a cruel wake up call, but, hopefully, renewed fear of him would make up for her lack of training.  That terror would keep her alive out there when he couldn’t watch over her.

Her eyes flew open and stared at him, glistening with unshed tears of betrayal.  She shifted away from him, moving slowly to avoid provoking him again.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he chuckled darkly.  She was at the edge of the mattress now but was afraid to leave the illusion of protection the blankets gave.   “You once asked me why I took you.”   He wished he had the mask on so he didn’t have to work so hard to keep his face and voice cold.  Instead, he settled for getting up and turning his back to her as he readied his gear. “It’s because I could use you.  You’ve been a fun toy, but run along now and report to O'Deorain.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, kids, this is it: the final chapter. Thirteen, rather appropriate, don’t you think? It only took me nearly a year to finish this challenge. ^.^

Your heart felt like it was being ripped in two.  The caring, almost sweet lover from the night before had disappeared as if in a puff of smoke, and the dark, menacing master had returned.  Racking your brain to try and figure out what you’d done wrong, any justification for the way he’d left you, you came up empty. You couldn’t fathom a reason for his cruelty.

Except Occam’s razor had one.

He had been harsh before you learned to love him, but you’d thought that that was in the past.  And you were wrong.

But what had you expected?  A grand profession of love and the two of you would run away to someplace out of a romance novel, like Borneo?  How naïve you’d been, and just when you’d thought he’d finally pulled the rose-tinted glasses from your face, he showed you how cruel the world really was.

You still ached in your core, the reminder of your brutal mounting the night before, which made you tingle and throb.  The arousal exacerbated the soreness and produced a deliciously merciless feedback loop. Stares followed your stumbling form in the corridors; you took no notice.

Moving like an omnic, you went about the routine you’d developed in the short time you’d been there, but it didn’t matter.  Nothing mattered. You might as well have been wrapped in a cocoon of cotton because nothing reached you, nothing except the black fog that had seeped into your soul.

Any time that you weren’t on duty, you curled up in bed.  Although you couldn’t sleep, you stared at the wall. You showered before showing up in the med bay, but that was only because you had to.  Food was tasteless when you gave into the hunger pangs.

Even Moira had noticed that something was off.  Right before you shipped out, she shot something into you as you double-checked your gear.  The prick of the needle was the first sensation you could remember since your heart was ripped out of your chest.

“Your efficiency has waned.  This will restore you,” she said crisply and strode away to prepare for the mission.

Whatever it was she shot you up with, it did work.  You felt like you had enough energy to run a marathon, and your mood did lift enough for you to function.  The heartache was still there, but you no longer felt like you were drowning. So, you shrugged and headed to the transport since there wasn’t anything else to be done.

Loading up, you wished you had a mask of your own, because you were shattered all over again when you saw him.

* * *

 

Despite countless battles in all his years as a soldier, he was a coward.  Three little words froze him in his tracks, and it was killing him that he couldn’t tell her.  Maybe if he was braver, he could admit how helpless she made him feel. If he was stronger, he could admit that he’d needed to make her feel that same helplessness.  She was the light to his darkness, rekindling hope he’d long thought dead.

He couldn’t bring all that baggage onto the battlefield.  Not only would he like as not end up dead, he’d put his teammates at risk.  And there was one in particular he couldn’t bear to see hurt. He’d brought her into this and if she died…

Pushing those thoughts aside and blanking his mind, he settled into his pre-mission headspace.

The objective was rather simple: an Overwatch team was expected in…  Fuck, where were they again? Liberia, Libya, or was it Latvia? Not that it really mattered, he knew the layout of the region and as long as the pilot knew where they were going- and, more importantly, how to get out- it was fine by him.   Get in, eliminate, and get out.

First off the ship, he filled the immediate area with his smoke form to create cover for the rest of the team to take up position.  An arrow whizzed by his ear. He should have known a fucking Shimada would be here. Zig-zagging towards cover, he fired back. It wasn’t about damage, it was about distracting the archer.  A flash of green out of the corner of his eye meant that the other one was around. Where he went, McCree couldn’t be far behind. As if summoned by the thought, he heard the echo of a familiar six-shooter.

Morrison burst out of the alley (what was this, Old Home Week?) he was heading towards, shooting in steady pulses that forced him to mist out and to a balcony farther down the street.  It wasn’t the best vantage point, but it was better than getting pinned between two enemies.

* * *

 

It felt like pure adrenaline had replaced the plasma in your blood.  Thanks to your time on the firing range, you no longer flinched at every gunshot, yet you were hardly indifferent towards the loud bursts.  Not that you had much time to focus on the noise; injured soldiers regularly cycled through the café in which you had set up shop. You patched them up and they ran back out.

Occasionally you caught glimpses of the ongoing battle when some of the participants ran in front of the plate glass windows.  You were hidden thanks to the blackout technology built into the storefront that activated when the business closed for the day, but you could still see out.

Was that a fucking dragon- check that,  _ two _ dragons- that just flew by?  What the hell was in that concoction Moira gave you?  You crept closer to the window for a better view.

Thus, you had a front row seat to watch as an arrow pierced Gabriel’s chest. You felt your own heart stop, and before you knew what you were doing, you grabbed your kit and ran out the front.  Your feet pounded on the pavement in time with the beating of your pulse. For what seemed an eternity, you watched him fall from the balcony where he’d taken up position. The way his coat flapped around him, it almost looked like he had wings.

He landed with a sickening thud.  You dropped to your knees at his side a heartbeat later, ignoring the pain that heralded bruises to come, and set to work.  With the hand on the unaffected side, he removed his mask.

“Don’t move,” you ordered and applied pressure around the wound as you prepped a biotic vial.

“I lied,” he rasped.  Ignoring your shushing, he continued, “I fell in love with you and I hated you for it.  You were so pure, I wanted to drag you down into the dark with me. I tried to break you, to twist you, but you kept your humanity.”

“Don’t.”  You shook your head.  You were going to cry, and you needed to see to save him.  One vial wasn’t enough; you reached for another. Of all the anguish he had inflicted upon you, this had to be the most gut wrenching.  As helpless as you’d felt before, it was nothing compared to how you felt when you watched him fall.

“I would have dropped the guns and sold my soul for you.”  He stroked the back of one gloved hand across your tear-streaked cheek, and you cupped your free hand around his.

“I swear, if you don’t make it, I will kill you,” you sniffled and bent your head to press your lips to his.

* * *

 

You woke in an unfamiliar concrete room barren of everything save a toilet and the lumpy bed you laid upon.  Not that there were many idiosyncrasies, but you knew that this wasn’t your former cell.

“Déjà vu,” you muttered and sat up, immediately regretting it.  Your head was thundering like an entire herd of wildebeests stampeded through it.  The hospital gown you wore indicated it wasn’t a hangover from partying too hard.

What the hell happened?  The last thing you remember you were kissing Gabriel in the middle of a street turned warzone.  The throbbing headache brought back a slice of memory, specifically a blinding pain before losing consciousness.

The door opened and you jumped to your feet, your poor abused knees protesting the sudden movement, but you stood firm.  The man who entered wore a mask and a visor with a thin red line across the eyes, leaving a shock of white hair free. What was it with these soldiers and masks?  Although if you were a wanted person, you supposed you’d hide your identity, too.

You folded your arms and stared him down as he stalked closer.  The jingoistic get-up was hardly intimidating after Reaper, although the visor was pretty disconcerting.  He stopped a few feet from you and tilted his head to one side and you got the distinct impression that he was studying you like he would an interesting insect.  You stared back unblinking.

“Medical exams show that you’ve spent some time in Reyes’… tender loving care.”  You fought a shudder. He had the same unearthly quality to his voice that Gabriel had, and damn if it didn’t have the same effect on you.  “Now it’s my turn to play.”


End file.
